


Unicorn

by seaashelll



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Humor, It's not as sexual as you think it is, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:20:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23569717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaashelll/pseuds/seaashelll
Summary: Jill Valentine has only one mission: find Chris Redfield. Months have passed since the initial assignment, and she's got no leads, very little time, and an angry BSAA boss breathing down her neck at all hours of the day.After a stroke of luck, she comes upon a vague personal ad posted by Claire, Chris's beloved sister and the only shot Jill's got at tracking his whereabouts. She jumps on the opportunity, eager to do whatever it takes to get her one step closer to completing her mission.It's only after entering Claire's home, sharing a coffee, that she discovers Claire and her partner Leon were searching for an experienced "unicorn", a friendly term for a third person who joins in on an established relationship.Jill's not qualified; she barely knows anything about regular sex, much less the shenanigans Claire and Leon want to bring her into. But she's also not willing to give up on her one chance at finding Chris. How far is she willing to go to find the truth? More importantly, what's going to happen when her feelings get muddled up in the mess?Slight AU.
Relationships: Claire Redfield/Jill Valentine, Leon S. Kennedy/Claire Redfield, Leon S. Kennedy/Jill Valentine
Comments: 54
Kudos: 74





	1. Special Nanny for our Unicorn

**Author's Note:**

> This story is also available to read on FanFiction.net.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!

The best mornings of my life are the ones where I can just stand in front of the mirror, watching my chest rise and fall with each breath. 

I savor the clean air, the slowness of the moment, the birds chirping in the background, the occasional car or two breezing past my bedroom window. I savor the bright sun shining its light over my fading scars. I even appreciate my softening features. The way my body feels less and less like stick and muscle, and more like a human being's. Flesh. Curves. Soft skin. 

Today I close my eyes for just a little bit longer than usual. I opened the window a couple of minutes ago, and the warm summer air seeps through, embracing me. It smells fresh, of flowers and freshly-mowed grass. 

It’s been three years since Raccoon City. I hate talking about it, dwelling on it. I wish I could go back to normal. Pretend I’m like every other woman in her late twenties, worrying about things other than countering bioterrorism attacks. 

The clock flashes from 8:59 to 9:00, and I remember that I can't live in this moment forever. Sometimes it feels like every battle I've fought means nothing, because I wake up every morning to the sounds of Jarod, my boss, blasting me through my computer speakers. Literally. 

"Valentine. Do you copy?"

He still won't tell me how he bugged my computer. He turns the camera and microphone on at will. According to him, I'm on call. BSAA never fucking rests. He claims he only spies in during our daily, um, "meetings", but I don't trust him. I keep a sticker over my webcam. I had to move my vibrator to the living room. Sacrifices. 

"Valentine. Get your ass over here. Stop playing with yourself."

I sigh and plop down in front of my computer, slowly peeling the sticker off the webcam, if not for nothing, to drive Jarod crazy. 

"Stop with the sexual innuendos. It's not like you," I gripe. 

"Stop taking everything I say as an innuendo and get your head out of your ass," he grunts back. 

"What do you want, Jarod?" 

"Same thing I've wanted for almost eight months now, Valentine. Chris." 

"You called me just to tell me that? Trust me, I know, okay? I'm doing my best." 

He moves his face closer to the camera, as if that's somehow going to intimidate me. 

"You have one job, Jill. We're not paying you to sit in your room and stare out the window. Find him."

I almost slam my hands against the desk, then realize I probably shouldn't. "I'm trying, Jarod. The dude's impossible, okay? He has no family, no close friends, and literally disappeared without a trace. He could be dead for all we know." 

"He's not dead," Jarod states matter-of-factly. 

"How do you know?"

"Because Chris is tough as shit, and he's also smart as shit. That's the problem. We don't know who he's with. We don't know if he's even on our side anymore. You were the one working closely with him." 

"We worked together as a team. You know him just as well as I do at this point." I shift in my seat, hoping I remembered to put on a bra. "I doubt he's betrayed us. For all we know, dude's hiding in plain sight, hoping we don't find him, because he's sick of STARS and BSAA and all of your bullshit, Jarod." 

"Watch it, Valentine." 

"Suck it, Jarod."

He rubs his head. "Try the sister." 

I roll my eyes. "Wow! Try Claire? Thank you, I would've never thought to try to track down his one surviving family member." 

He raises his eyebrows. 

"I can't find her," I admit in defeat. "I tried months ago."

"Maybe circumstances have changed." 

"Maybe the Redfields don't want to be found and we're wasting our time." 

"Fine. Maybe BSAA is wasting its money giving you a paycheck." 

I fold my arms. "I'm doing my best, okay? One day at a time. If you'd learn to have the tiniest bit of faith in me, like you used to, you wouldn't be bugging my room and shitting your pants at every little setback. We've survived an infected population. We can survive not knowing where Chris is for the time being." 

He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, then opens it again. "Just figure it out. You're a smart girl, Valentine." 

"Bye Jarod." 

I stick the tape back onto the webcam and turn my computer speakers off. I don't know if he's still listening in or not, but I don't really care at this point. 

— — 

I spend way too much time in public doing research that should probably not be done in front of other people. Ironically, it's where I feel like I have more privacy. I can go somewhere and feel reasonably assured that I'm not bugged. 

I hope. 

Usually I start my day with some sort of inkling, some sort of lead or idea or residual thought that fuels me through what will inevitably be hours of fruitless research. But today I have absolutely nothing. The conversation between Jarod and I loops through my head over and over, like a broken record. I'm too pissed to concentrate. 

That's how my days usually end. Being too pissed to concentrate. 

But it's too early for the day to end, and Jarod's temper is only getting worse and worse. I straighten my back, trying not to lean up against the dusty counter where the computer's perched. I type "Chris Redfield" into a search bar, as if I haven't tried that a million times before. Maybe this time, it'll turn up with something. 

Chris Redfield, a fifty-something year old lawyer in Pennsylvania. Chris Redfield, a teenager with a blog that nobody reads. Christopher Redfield, a pediatrician with the worst teeth I've ever seen in my life. I lament that Chris was given such a common ass name, and that he's not a lawyer or teenager or pediatrician with buck teeth. 

Yet still no Chris. Not my Chris, anyways. 

A lady next to me taps me on the shoulder. I jump for a second and almost screech. Then I remember it's not socially acceptable. 

"Hey, can you do me a favor?" she asks. She's probably in her early thirties, bleach-blonde and far too pretty to be talking to me. 

My jaw just sort of drops. I have no social skills before 11 AM. Hell, I don't really have social skills, period. 

She taps a perfectly manicured nail against the counter, and I watch as a couple of micro dust bunnies flitter under her fingers. It's easier to watch dust bunnies race against a countertop than confront my social faux pas. 

"Do you mind watching my stuff for me? I have to pee, like, so badly." She speaks like a high school valley girl, like all those antagonists in bad WB shows. 

"Um, yeah," I sputter. 

I feel my face fall as she saunters away. She's probably the first person I've spoken to face-to-face in a solid month. Maybe two. How sad is that? 

I eye her stuff. A Chanel bag. A coffee cup with lipstick stains on the lid. A tiny bottle of suntan lotion, which has absolutely no use in this dimly-lit room, yet it's open, with some of the lotion oozing through the hole. 

In my quest to be nosy-but-not-too-nosy, I peer over to her computer screen. I always hope that one day I'll catch somebody looking at something really weird in public, but it's usually people doing work or research. Like I'm supposed to be doing. Occasionally, someone will be online shopping, but they're never buying anything interesting. 

To my surprise, her screen's got an advertisement up:

_Looking for a Special Nanny for our Unicorn!_

I couldn't imagine trusting a woman who uses suntan lotion indoors to watch a child, but then again, I'm in no position to judge. 

_Serious applicants only. Email for more details. We hope you can be the perfect fit for us!_

I'm just about ready to roll my eyes and focus back on the Chris Redfields of the world when I happen to spot the poster's name.

_Claire R._

A tiny, irrational glimmer of hope shoots through my body like a volt of electricity. My heart rate speeds up. Claire R. 

Valley Blonde returns, cutting my thought process off, bringing me back down to earth. 

"Thanks. Nature called, like, crazy." 

"You're welcome." 

She closes out of her window, and I realize that if I stare too long, it'll start to get creepy. Then I remind myself that there's probably a million people out there named "Claire R.", and I'm only getting excited because it's been months, and I'm dying for any sort of clue I can find. 

I let the thought pass. An hour goes by sitting in front of the computer, or maybe only five minutes. My brain's in a fog. I can't think of anything. 

Jarod's going to kill me. 

Valley Blonde leaves after some time. The Claire R. post wanders back into my brain. It sits itself down, sticking onto me, the words repeating themselves. 

The odds were so slim. Practically none. But they weren't zero. At this point, I knew I had to jump on every possible little opportunity available to me. 

I type nanny, unicorn, and Claire R. into the search bar. The same post pops back up. It's on one of those free-for-all sites, where you can find a job, an old couch, and a prostitute all in one sitting. 

_Email for more details._

I get ready to draft up an email, only to realize that an email from Jill Valentine of BSAA might be a little intimidating for someone who's looking for a nanny for their kid. Then I remember that I have no idea what I'm getting into, and that I probably don't want to give away too much about myself. 

I'm working like a mad man now. I go to create a burner email address, then get stuck on a name. Then somebody's phone goes off. _Dancing with Myself_ by Billy Idol. So I name the email address billy12345@yahoo.com. Then I remember I'm a girl. So then it's billie12345@yahoo.com. My mind's deteriorating a bit in my desperation to apply for this stupid nannying job. 

_Hi,_

_I'm interested in this position. Can you give me more information? My email is billie12345@yahoo.com._

I click send before I have time to question myself. 

— —

I literally spent that entire evening refreshing my email over and over again. I think I pressed the refresh button every two minutes. I needed an answer. If it wasn't her, which it probably wasn't, I could at least get the thought out of my brain and move on to other dead ends. 

Finally, at 7:54 PM, my billie12345 inbox dings. It's a response. 

_Great!_

_As of now, it's just me and my partner. We're looking for someone to complete our family in the best way possible. What is it that you're looking for? I'd love to see if we're on the same page!_

_\- Claire R._

I've never typed a response so quickly in my life. 

_Hi Claire,_

_So sorry it's just you and your partner. Do you not have family around?_

What am I looking for? I can't tell her I'm searching for a missing man through a UN-sanctioned biohazard response team. That's probably a little intimidating. 

_I'm really flexible. Just looking to see what's out there and keeping my options open._

_\- Billie_

I click send. I figure it's best to be as vague as possible, just in case. 

I get a response almost immediately. Guess she's online. 

_Billie,_

_You're too funny! Sadly, my family is not around anymore, but I won't bore you too much with personal details. Not yet, anyways._

There's a blurry picture of a winky face separating the paragraphs. I fixate on the "no family" part. Now this is getting interesting. 

_What does your availability look like? I'd love to see if our schedules match up._

_\- Claire R._

My fingers are practically flying off the keyboard. My heart's really racing now. What the hell am I getting myself into?

_Claire,_

_I'm super flexible. I'm willing to go along with your schedule, as needed. I'd love to be a perfect match for your family._

_\- Billie_

I'm tempted to ask about the child, but then I remember that I want to keep it as vague as possible. The longer I can hold Claire R.'s interest, the better. 

_Billie,_

_You sound like you might be a good match for us. Can you send a picture? I've attached mine to this email. My partner's asleep so I'll wait until the morning to snap a picture of him._

I click open the picture. It could've been a virus, and my whole computer could've been wiped clean, but I was too far invested. 

A picture of a young-ish girl pops up onto the screen. Mid twenties, maybe late twenties. She's pretty in a sort of innocent looking way. Her brown hair's tied up into a cutesy ponytail. Her blue eyes have a sort of cute sparkle to them. Maybe this picture was taken before she had the kid. 

Her nose and her jaw look a whole lot like Chris's. 

Now I'm really, really fired up. I peel the tape off my webcam, hoping to god Jarod's not spying on me. I take a blurry picture, giving it just enough lighting to see that I'm an actual human being, but not enough detail to reveal my identity fully, just in case. 

_Claire,_

_Here you go! Promise I'm real and not a creeper in disguise!_

_\- Billie_

Her response takes a few moments. I think my heart's going to rip itself out of my chest. There's a tiny glimmer of hope that it's her, that Claire Redfield has somehow been hiding in plain sight. 

_Billie,_

_I love the haircut! It frames your face so well. Super cute. Are you available to meet tomorrow around noon? You can come to the house and have a cup of coffee. No pressure, we can just chit chat and get to know each other before getting into this._

_\- Claire R._

An invitation to go to her house. It's either really exciting, or the perfect way to get murdered. But I'm too far in now. 

_Claire,_

_Would love to! Send me your address and I'll be there at noon._

_\- Billie_

It takes her a few minutes, but eventually she sends me the address. I map it; a cute bungalow that's only about fifteen miles from my apartment. 

Perfect. 

It's late, and the pressure behind my eyes tells me it's time to go to bed. I'm excited. I usually know better than to jump to conclusions, but there's a tiny, microscopic chance, and that's more than I've had in months. 

Sadly. 

— —

I take "not meeting until noon" as an opportunity to sleep in, for once. The warm sunshine coming through my window feels so nice against my body. My blanket has never felt so comforting before in my life. I keep my eyes closed. Part of me is comfortable, and part of me knows that once I get out of this bed, the nerves are going to kick in. 

I'm about to go meet a stranger at some random residence under the convoluted hope that she's Chris's sister. 

What the hell am I doing?

By about 10:30, the nerves overtake the comfort of my bed. Rationality almost kicks in, but I'm not ready to give up just yet. Just in case. 

I notice the light on my webcam is on. Jarod's probably been trying to get ahold of me for a good hour or so. I throw an old tank top and shorts on and peel the sticker off my webcam, hesitating before turning my computer speakers on. 

"The hell are you doing, Valentine?" Jarod blares through my speakers. 

"Sorry. I was asleep," I fake-apologize. 

"Are you being serious right now?" 

I debate telling him whether I have a lead or not right now, since this whole thing is still, um, totally crazy. Instead, I just sort of continue the fake apology. 

"I'm not feeling real well," I lie. 

"You look fine to me."

I lean closer to the webcam, his favorite intimidation tactic. "Lady issues."

Like every man on the entire planet, he recoils in horror. "Tee-em-I, Valentine." 

I shrug. 

"Just, um, give me a few hours to get myself taken care of, and I'll get back to you later this afternoon?" I don't mean for it to sound like a question, but it kind of does. 

Jarod rolls his eyes. I don't know whether he's buying my bullshit or not. 

"Fine. Go take care of yourself." I can tell he's trying to keep from laughing. 

I roll my eyes. "The innuendos, Jarod. Gross. Stop." 

The tape goes back over my webcam, and my speakers are off. 

By 11, it occurs to me that I should probably have some sort of backstory, to avoid completely embarrassing myself. I remember they're looking for a nanny, so I quickly scribble down some made-up children and made-up babysitting experiences. I nannied a five year old last summer, a ten year old the school year prior, and a couple of toddlers, for good measure. I hoped she wouldn't ask too many questions, because I literally know nothing about childcare whatsoever. In fact, I knew nothing about this kid or the situation I was about to get into, because I was too damn stupid to ask. All I knew was that her name was Claire, she had no family, and she wore a ponytail at some point in her life. 

By 11:35, I've almost completely talked myself out of it. That is, until an email pops up on my computer.

_Billie,_

_Looking forward to seeing you in a little bit! Remember, there's no pressure. Let's just have a cup of coffee and chit-chat. We're probably both a little nervous right now!_

_\- Claire R._

It's too late to back out now. I grab a backpack and my revolver. Probably overkill, but you never know what situation you're going to find yourself in. Then I remember the little scrap of paper just as I'm leaving. 

Brandon, five. Caroline, ten. Ella and Mia, toddlers of an undetermined age. What's the age range for toddlers again? I’ll just say they were toddlers. 

My hands tightly clutched the steering wheel the entire eighteen minute drive from my apartment to the address that Claire R. sent me. 

You'd think I'd be used to venturing into the unknown, with everything said and done, but it's these moments of planned uncertainty that are the worst. The moments when you're consciously throwing yourself into an unknown situation. I've never been the impulsive type, either. Then again, Jarod's never been as big of a hardass as he's been recently, so people can change. 

The house is a bit bigger than what was pictures. It's not too big, but not too small; friendly in a charming sort of way. The faded olive-green paint on the outside gives it a sort of rustic look that most people would probably find abhorrent, alongside the browning grass and the small layer of weeds painting the cracked driveway. A lone SUV sits in the driveway. It's got a couple of dents on it here and there, nothing to raise any eyebrows. I'm in a nice neighborhood; one of the little housing developments that middle-class families flock to as soon as the pregnancy sign says "positive". 

Here goes nothing. 

I don't even make it to the doorbell before the front door swings wide open, revealing a ponytail and a shaking body and a set of glimmering, hopeful eyes. I wish mine looked like that. 

"Um, hi! Are you Billie, I assume?" Her voice cracks. The way she shifts her weight around, you can tell she's not used to being nervous. 

Her face is so familiar. The nose, the lips, the jawline. Almost as if I've seen her before. But I know I haven't. 

I nod. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be nervous too or not. 

Claire shoots her hand out. It's shaking so badly that I don't even know whether to return the gesture or not. Her eyes plead with me, so I do. 

She whips her hand away as soon as I start to pull mine forward. "Um, do you want to come in?" Her voice is a little stronger than it had been, but still fueled by nerves. 

I step inside. It would've been the perfect opportunity to scope the scene out for danger, but all I can do is focus on her face. All of the features. Every last little detail. 

She sticks her hand back out. "I'm Claire. Claire Redfield." 

I thought I'd heard it in my imagination at first. Time stopped, I think. 

Is this real? Did my stupid impulsivity pay off? Maybe my mother was right about a woman's natural intuition. Or something like that. 

"Billie," I sputter. My knees are weak. The room's spinning. I want to grab her hand as tightly as I can, like she'll somehow escape if I let her go. 

Claire Redfield is standing right in front of me. She'd been living fifteen miles away from me for who knows how long. She'd been right under my nose the whole time. 

Maybe Chris is, too. 

She shoots me a look, and it takes me a minute to realize she's expecting me to tell her my last name. I almost say "Valentine", then remember that I'm supposed to be undercover. I mean, nobody said I had to be undercover, but I'm too far in. 

"Um, Easter." 

Billie Easter? That's really the best I can do? I kick myself in my head.

"It's really nice to meet you," Claire beams. She's relaxing. She's probably going to Google me later. Good luck with that.

We wander further into the foyer. There's a tiny end table perched next to a set of double doors; probably an office. A glock sits on top, shining under the comfy incandescent light. 

Claire shrieks, opening the little cabinet underneath and shoving the gun inside. She doesn't have to know that I've got one in my backpack. 

"Sorry. My partner, Leon, he's a cop. Sometimes his little 'artifacts' get left behind." We both know she's lying. She was just as nervous as I was. 

I glance up above the end table. A cute portrait hangs above it; Claire and a tall young man with a mop of dirty blond hair clinging to his head. He's chiseled and, in perfect honesty, quite handsome. 

"That's you and Leon?" I ask. 

She nods. "I know. He's a looker." She laughs nervously. "What do you think of him? Do you like what you see?" 

I'm not really sure how to respond, so I just sort of nod awkwardly and wander over to the next picture. It's Claire and Leon with a pretty little blonde girl. They're each kissing one of her cheeks. It's cute, if not a little staged. 

I point to the picture. "This is?"

Claire taps her nails against the frame. "That's my daughter, Sherry." 

"Oh." I remember this is what I'm supposed to be here for. "How old is she?"

Claire rolls her eyes and laughs. "Fifteen. She's out with friends right now. I haven't been able to keep her at home for more than twenty-four hours a time since school got out."

Fifteen? A fifteen year old needs a nanny?

Claire completely misreads the look of confusion on my face. "I know what you're thinking," she jabs. "I didn't have a baby at, like, ten or anything. She's adopted. It's a long story. I'd love to tell you sometime." 

Words lose me. I have no idea what to say, or what I'm about to get myself into. 

She grabs my wrist quite firmly, as if I'll be the one running off if she lets go. "I brewed some coffee. It's a single origin from Colombia. You'll like it even if you're not a coffee person. Let's sit in the living room and chit-chat." 

"Right."

She pours us cups of coffee, somehow managing to perfect the balance between cream and sugar in one try. The only person I ever knew who could do that was Chris. Which makes the whole experience that much more jarring. 

"Retrospect, this probably would've been way less awkward if we met for lunch or coffee or somewhere public. I didn't think about it. I was just excited to find an actual unicorn. And a pretty one, too." 

I take several sips. Now I really don't know what to say. 

"Um, thanks. Yeah, I guess that would've, um, made more sense," I ramble softly. "So do you have, um, any other kids?" 

She sort of rolls her eyes, as if she doesn't want to talk about kids. "Not at the moment. Leon and I are thinking of trying when Sherry's off at college. We don't want her to spend her high school years feeling like she has to babysit a baby sibling, you know?" 

I've never been more confused in my life, and I've seen some shit. 

"So, um, you made the post, special nanny for your unicorn..." I'm at a squeaky whisper at this point. 

Claire freezes. "That's the code, isn't it? For couples looking for a third person to join them?" 

You know those movie moments where someone hears something so shocking they spit out their drink? That about happened to me. Thankfully, I threw my arm in front of my mouth just in time to catch the drippage. 

She rubs her face. "Oh. God. This is awkward...did we, maybe, have different understandings of what's going on here? If this isn't what you're looking for, you're more than welcome to go." 

It takes me a good thirty seconds for the reality of the situation to fully wrap itself around my brain. 

I found Claire Redfield, hidden in plain sight, looking for a threesome on a sketchy-ish website. 

I've battled literal monsters before. Somehow, all of this was more shocking. 

I look between Claire and the door. My options flash before me. I can tell her that this was a gross misunderstanding and walk out the door, losing the only lead I've managed to find in ages. Or I can stay and play along with, um, wherever the fuck this is going. 

I stay. 

I shake my head. "Oh, no! That's, uh, that's what I thought you were looking for?" It sounds more like a question than a statement. "I just wanted to make sure that, um, you were using it as a, you know, as a code, too."

Her whole body relaxes. "Oh thank god. Don't judge me, but I think I would've literally died from embarrassment." 

What about me? 

"Understandable," I reassure her. "Me too." 

She slumps in her chair. "So, uh, tell me a little bit more about yourself, Billie. What do you do? It's gotta be pretty badass if you have a flexible schedule." 

I'm still in a state of shock. My brain's not fully capable of coming up with a palatable backstory. 

"I write," I manage to mutter. I've never written anything substantial in my entire life. Do high school essays count?

"Oh, wow, a writer!" Claire looks genuinely excited. "That's so cool! What do you write?" 

The STARS team once told me I'm the worst liar in the world. I'm wondering if Claire will catch my bluff, too. Maybe she'll chalk it up to nerves. 

"I um...It's classified." I sound like a bitch, so I soften up. "I'll be able to tell you once I, uh, get to know you better." 

"Oh. I get it. Trust me. Leon and I have been in our fair share of classified situations." 

I want to ask, but I know better. 

We continue conversing. I relax a tiny bit. She dominates the conversation, thank god. She tells me about the joys of parenting a teenager. I tell her about how my upstairs neighbors at my apartment drive me nuts because they play music at 2 AM. She shares a horror college story, and so do I. Small talk. Boring things people talk about at dinner parties. As if this whole situation were normal, and not totally fucking bizarre. 

Finally, after a while, she shifts forward in her seat, changing the subject. 

"So, I have to ask. What is it you're looking for?" 

"Looking for?" 

She giggles. "The unicorn stuff. What sort of, um, setup were you hoping to find?" 

"Um." I don't know what to say. I don't know how any of this stuff works. I don't know what the hell I'm getting myself into. 

Thankfully, she cuts me off. "Leon and I, we love each other, but we came into this relationship under some, um, crazy circumstances. It's been a whirlwind. So we're kind of looking for someone to ground us? Does that make sense?" 

It doesn't, but I nod. 

"Like, I know a lot of people just sort of want the one-night-stand-threesome thing, but we were hoping to find someone long-term. Someone who's not just joining us in bed, but also in life." She giggles. "That sounds a little corny, doesn't it?" 

I shrug. "It's okay." 

"So basically, we were hoping we'd find someone we could build a bond with. We want to explore ourselves in multiple ways. Romantic, platonic...sexual." She whispers the "sexual" part, as if it were embarrassing, as if we weren't here sipping coffee under the pretense that a threesome is supposed to go down in the near future. 

"So you want a long-term unicorn?" It sounds so dumb coming out of my mouth. 

She shrugs. "I mean, it doesn't have to be a big commitment, but at least for longer than one night. We'd love to take it slow. Explore ourselves, you know?" 

"That's exactly what I was looking for," I blurt, hoping I can sell the lie. Maybe my skills have improved, at least marginally. 

She beams. "That's wonderful! Wow! I think we both got lucky!" 

Did we?

Her phone rings. She shoots up, nearly dropping her coffee. 

"Shit. I forgot I'm supposed to pick up Sherry. She's probably super pissed at me right now. Teenagers." She smiles, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. 

"Yeah." I pretend to understand. 

She walks me toward the door, then pulls me into an awkward hug. "I'm going to talk to Leon tonight and see what he thinks, then I'll email you? Then maybe the three of us can get together and just see where things go?" 

"That sounds good." 

"It was really nice to meet you, Billie," Claire muses as I swing the door open. She plants a last-minute kiss on my cheek before gently shutting the door behind me. 

She smells good. 

——

Normally, in weird and stressful situations, peoples' minds race. Not mine. My mind went completely blank for the entire eighteen minute drive home, and the entire two minute walk up to my apartment, and the entire three minutes and forty-five seconds it takes me to change into sweatpants. 

I found Claire. No, I didn't just find Claire. I found an in. I have the opportunity to form a long-term relationship with her. Build trust. Then she just might tell me where Chris is. My mission has the tiniest glimmer of hope tied to it. 

But I could only have my answers in the weirdest fucking circumstances imaginable. 

I don't know if I can do it. Can I really pretend to be interested in this for a long period of time? I think back to all the trainings I had to go to on undercover missions. Nobody prepared me for "pretending to be a couple's third person for potentially sexual shenanigans". 

I go to research "unicorns", having to adjust my search terms a billion times to make sure Google knows I'm talking about fucking threeways, not cute sparkly horseys with horns. I find an interesting article on "setting the throuple boundaries" when Jarod calls me. 

"Valentine!" he shrieks through my computer speakers. "Where the hell have you been? You've gone MIA all day!"

I grunt. I'm tired of Jarod's bullshit. 

"I've been chasing a lead, Jarod," I mutter, wondering if I'm going to regret saying anything. 

"On Chris? What lead?" he asks. 

"A lead," I reply back in an annoyed tone. "I'll tell you later." 

"What do you mean you'll 'tell me later'?" 

"If I tell you now, it'll ruin my chances of being able to follow through." A complete lie. I'd just rather not die from embarrassment at the moment. 

"I don't know whether I can trust you or not," Jarod groans. 

I click out of my unicorn article, wondering if he can see my computer screen, too. Fucking creep. 

"Fine. Don't trust me then. That's your problem." 

He sighs. "Just...keep me updated? I know you like doing things in the dark, but I'm a lights-on kind of guy, okay? I need to see what's happening." 

"Jarod," I mutter. "You are seriously disgusting." 

He ends the call. Not even two seconds later, an email from Claire pops up in my inbox. 

_Billie,_

_Leon and I talked and, if you're willing, we'd love to pursue this more. Are you interested in meeting up with the both of us? Just let me know. I'd be happy to give you my number._

_\- Claire_

There it was. The penultimate moment lied before me on that retched flickering computer screen. How far am I really willing to go to find Chris?

Apparently, this far. 

_Claire,_

_Count me in._


	2. A Jill Sandwich, Almost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy, because my search history is quite tainted from this chapter. 
> 
> Thank you for the positive feedback!

There are so many "first things" I could've done the morning after meeting Claire for the first time. Research. Drafting up a good backstory for Billie Easter. Even sorting through my closet for some semblance of sexy clothing, which I do not own. 

Instead, I threw some sweatpants on, went to Walmart, and bought a three dollar journal that says "Wild GRL" on the front. No, I didn't buy it because of my, um, current situation. It was either "Wild GRL" or "2 Corinthians 5:7", and you can probably guess why I didn't buy that one. 

Most undercover missions require formal documentation, but the last thing I need is Jarod hacking my computer and reading about my, um, escapades. But I also know that I need a place to vent about all of this, because shit's probably about to get real weird.

I throw open the cover, grabbing a nearby pen. 

_Dear Diary,_

I immediately scratch it out. Dear Diary? I'm not a ten-year-old girl. All I need to do is put the date. 

_June 10th_

Then I hesitate. What is someone supposed to write in a diary? Do I really want to document my innermost thoughts and feelings? That would require confronting them, and that's kind of the last thing I want to do right now. 

Then I think: what do I even say? Nothing's actually happened yet. All I did was have coffee. With Claire Redfield. Who wants to make me her bitch. Well, her and Leon's bitch. Chris Redfield's sister wants to share a man with me, "both in and out of the bedroom". 

After several seconds of thinking, I finally scribble something down. 

_What the fuck, man?_

The light on my webcam flashes. Actually, it's probably been flashing for a while. I toss Wild GRL to the side and straighten up. 

Jarod's voice angrily blasts through my speakers as soon as I turn them on. "The hell are you doing, Valentine? I've been trying to catch you for almost an hour!" Everything is so dramatic with him. 

"I had stuff I had to take care of." It's technically not a lie. 

"What stuff?" 

"Lady stuff." 

"You had lady stuff yesterday." 

"Do you have any idea how menstrual cycles work, Jarod?" 

He twists his face, then sort of squints his eyes, like he's trying to see something far away, except there's nothing to see far away, because the asshole spends his whole life in front of a damn computer. 

"Are you topless, Valentine?" 

I glance down. I'm still in my ratty Walmart-trip tank top. The straps had fallen down. I quickly slip them back up. Motherfucking pervert. 

"Clearly there's something important you wanted to tell me, so get on with it," I mutter. 

He rubs his face. "Christ, it's like you've got your head up your own ass sometimes. Or maybe someone else's."

"Jarod."

"There was a break-in early this morning in the London BSAA headquarters. Happened at about one AM our time, seven theirs." 

I hesitate before responding. "And?" Now I'm being a bitch. Ninety-nine percent of the time, the break-ins are someone looking for money, only to be disappointed that BSAA doesn’t magically have stacks of cash just floating around. 

"There were only a few men involved in the break-in. As far as we know, they're not tied to any known organizations, but they did hold an intern hostage and demanded access to classified files on the Umbrella case. Central thinks they might be tied to someone who's trying to create a copycat virus." Jarod's voice sounds so tired and monotone. I almost wonder if he's lying. Then again, it's too big of a situation to lie about. 

“Jarod! What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” 

He grips his hands onto his desk, leaning closer to the webcam. “Because you’re too busy wiping your panties with blood, Valentine.” 

Gross. 

“What ended up happening? Do you think there’s a chance the US headquarters will be attacked?” I figure if I press him for details, I can get my mind off of, um, yesterday. 

He sort of waves me off. "The situation is managed. Security got the punks off the property really fast, but unfortunately nobody got documentation of their faces or names. We don't know who, or what, was behind all of it. As for our headquarters, we've amped up security. Had to ask a couple of our guys to work overtime, but I'm sure they're not complaining about the extra money." 

"What happened to the intern? The one held hostage?"

"He got shot," he says nonchalantly.

"What?!"

"He's in the ICU. He'll be fine. He's just an intern."

"You're such an asshole," I sigh. "If the whole thing is managed, why was it so urgent to get a hold of me? You don't sound all that concerned about what went down." 

"Because the break-in isn't what's important right now. What's concerning is knowing there's at least one active group, however big or small, trying to dig up dirt on the Umbrella case. They're probably going to go after those who were on the front lines back in Raccoon City a few years ago."

"Like me."

"Like _Chris_." 

"So you think Chris might be held hostage by some punks in London?" 

He shrugs. "It's possible. There's a chance he's working for the punks in London, or some other organization. The longer we don't know his whereabouts, the more dangerous these theoretical situations become. Do you not understand how urgent this is, Valentine?" 

I slam my hands on my desk, making sure to keep my body at an angle where he can't see my Wild GRL diary in the background. "I told you, I'm following a lead! I've got something! It's been twelve hours and you've already completely lost faith in me. You've got to be more patient than that." 

"Well it doesn't help that you won't tell me what this supposed lead is." 

There's no way I can bring myself to tell him. I try to tell myself it was because it was too early on, and I didn't know whether this whole unicorn arrangement was going to work out, but deep down, I know it's because I'm about to go through a potentially humiliating experience just to find _stupid fucking Chris_. 

"I'm handling it."

"How?"

I'll breadcrumb him, I decide. "I may have found a lead on his sister. Claire." 

"You did? How?" 

"That's all I can tell you." 

My speakers ding. My billie12345 email pops up with a new notification. It's from Claire. The subject line is a series of winky emotes. I have to take a few deeps breaths to keep from getting flustered in front of Jarod. 

"I have to go, Jarod. I'll keep you posted." I throw the tape back over the webcam and turn my speakers off. 

I hesitate a little before clicking open the email. I'm not sure what I'm going to find. The whole situation is ridiculously unpredictable. 

_Billie,_

_Hope you're having a good day so far! I wanted to give you my number. Give me a call whenever you get the chance. I'd love to touch base and see if all three of us can get together in the near future!_

There's a phone number typed at the bottom. Part of me wants to wait as long as socially acceptable to give her a call. The other part of me wants to bite the bullet and get it over with. 

You can probably guess which part of me I listened to. 

I dial the number, then close my eyes as the dial tone rings, just like people do all dramatically in the movies. It's not calming my nerves. Why is that a thing people do in movies, anyways?

"Hello?" I hear Claire's voice. 

"Hey," I stutter after a few seconds. I was too busy concentrating on the whole closing-your-eyes-in-movies thing to focus. "It's, uh, me. Billie." 

"Oh! Great! Well it's-a-me, Claire." She tries to imitate Mario. It doesn't go well. "Sorry, video game references are so cheesy, but I couldn't help it." 

I start laughing at how awkward the whole twenty-seven second phone conversation has been thus far. I'll just let her think I'm laughing at her stupid joke. 

"How are you, Billie?" she asks in a cheerful tone. 

_Stressed._

"I'm good! I'm good. Uh, I just got your email, so I wanted to, you know, give you a call."

"Yeah! Yeah! That's great!" she muses. I can hear her footsteps in the background. She's probably pacing around in whatever room she's in. Also a classic movie move. "So, I really enjoyed meeting you yesterday."

"I did, too," I reply quickly. 

"Great! I told Leon a little bit about you, and how our meeting went and stuff, and he's super excited. I showed him the picture you sent, and he told me he thought you were really pretty, and I was like, oh, you know, she's so much prettier in person!" 

"Oh. That's, uh, great. Thank you." 

There's a moment of silence between us. She's probably waiting for me to give her a compliment, too. 

"You're really pretty, too. And uh, so is Leon. Er, he's handsome. Hot? I don't know. Whichever word is the least offensive." 

She laughs, thankfully. "Glad we all find each other attractive! It'll make jumping in the sack way less awkward in the future." 

I haven't let myself think about _that part_ yet. 

"So," she continues on. "Let's maybe do a coffee date between all three of us? We can meet in public next time since it's a little less intimidating." She's still giggling. Is it from nerves? "No pressure this time either. This is just a chance to see if we all sort of vibe well together. Like, we get a chance to feel out what this might be like, you know?" 

Her words are music to my ears. Meeting in public. No pressure. Just feeling each other out. I wonder how many times I can pull off "feeling each other out" before it progresses to, well, you know. 

“Um.” I don’t know why I’m still stuttering my words. 

Claire's clearly the kind of person who rambles when she's nervous. "Or we can meet at the house if you're wanting to jump straight into things. We'll just have to make sure Sherry's with a friend or something." 

"No!" I try not to shout. "Let's, uh, let's do the coffee. I like that. Getting to know each other. Vibing. Yeah." 

She giggles. She's a serious giggler. Is that a word? "Vibing. How naughty of you. Haha, just kidding, promise! Let's meet at Cafe Origin. It's real close by. How's tomorrow around four sound for you? Leon's off at three, so he can change real quick and then we can meet you there." 

"Works for me." 

"Great! We'll see you there!"

_Click._

Cool. That gives me a solid day and a half to plan a backstory. Or find something cute. Or figure out something to write in my journal. 

— —

I can't remember the last time I ever seriously contemplated my outfit. I'm not a girly-girl. I can't remember the last time I put on makeup. I'm a BSAA operative, for fucks sake. 

But here I am, standing in front of my closet that's mostly tank tops, jeans, and unsexy activewear, trying to find something that could even be remotely considered sexy. Like, just sexy enough for Cafe Origin and Leon and I guess Claire, but not so sexy that I'm ticketed for public indecency. It takes me a solid thirty minutes of rummaging to almost give up. Not that I had anything better to do. 

Finally, I stumbled upon an old blue tube top and slightly-out-of-style jean skirt from my college days. Even after gaining some weight post-Raccoon City, the top's still a little loose. My poor boobs took a big hit in STARS training and apparently haven't recovered. The skirt fits okay, but I still slip some shorts on underneath, more so to cover the fact that I'm wearing the ugliest granny panties you've ever seen in your life. The top's threatening to come down, so I tie a sweater around it. Is it fashionable? I don't know. But it works, and it's sexy, I guess. 

Thankfully, Cafe Origin is on the other side of town, and my odds of running into someone are super low. Then again, I don't really know that many people out here to begin with. What the hell are friends, anyways?

I'm a little less nervous this time, not clutching the wheel as hard for the twenty-two minute drive it takes to get to Cafe Origin. I'm not even nervous when Claire shouts "Billie!" way too loudly from across the cafe. 

Then I see Leon in person for the first time. 

There's an entire class of people who look better in person than they could ever hope to look in pictures. It's a very frustrating problem at work, when you're trying to hunt fugitives for an operation using only photographs compiled by undercover researchers. It's also very frustrating when you're trying to work up the nerve to have a threesome with your former work partner's sister, so, you know. 

Nerves. 

They're standing in a corner, hovering above a table but not necessarily wanting to commit to sitting at it. They've already bought me a coffee. I hope Claire worked her magic again. 

Claire pulls me into a hug, then holds her arm out, gesturing toward Leon as if I'd somehow miss him. "Hey girl! Nice to see you! This is my partner, Leon." 

Leon doesn't say anything at first. In fact, he doesn't move a damn muscle. He bores his eyes into me. Like he's deciding if he can trust me. Or maybe if my loose tube top and outdated skirt are sexy enough for him. 

I pass the test, I guess, because after several seconds, he extends his hand. "Leon Kennedy." 

I return the gesture. I almost say "Jill Valentine" without thinking, then catch myself. "Billie Easter." The more I say the name, the stupider and stupider it sounds. 

Claire quickly jumps in. "I got you a coffee. Cream and sugar, right?" 

I slide the vacant coffee cup toward me and take a sip. Perfect, again. Maybe Claire's coffee-making skills will be the one positive out of this whole endeavor. 

Claire nudges Leon, then sticks her tongue out. "See what I told you? She likes both?" She leans closer to the both of us. "Get it?" 

Leon chuckles a bit, but doesn't say much. I can't tell if he's actually a shy person, or if he's nervous, or if he's already decided from the get-go that I’m not worthy of their intense sexual escapades. 

It occurs to me that I can't let Claire do all the talking, or I'll lose their interest. "So, um, how did you two meet?" 

Apparently, that was the wrong question to ask. Claire and Leon sort of look at each other with wild eyes, like I'm about to uncover their deepest, darkest secret. How bad could it actually be? Did they meet at a sex party or something? Did one of them, ahem, hire the other, and sparks flew? Maybe they're the real life _Pretty Woman._

"It was my first day on the job. I was working for a different police department at the time. We had an incident, and Claire was involved. She was kind of the damsel in distress, and I came to rescue her." 

Claire smiles, but she's gritting her teeth. "I wasn't a damsel in distress. We were both working on the same, um, thing."

"What thing?" Now I'm mildly interested. 

More silence. They're deciding what the next detail to their cover story is. I have to admit, I'm intrigued. I'll have to get the truth out of them, sooner or later. 

Leon runs a hand through his, admittedly, gorgeous hair. "Um, a missing persons case."

"What police department did you work for?" I ask. 

Another tough question, apparently. "A really small town back east. There's no way you would've even heard of it." 

Jill Valentine would've pressed for more details, but I can't be secret agent Valentine right now. Billie Easter has to pretend to be oblivious, or I lose Claire. 

"Oh. Well thank you for your service," I chirp. 

Leon nods, his shy-dude way of saying "you're welcome". 

"Anyways." You can hear how desperate Claire is to change the subject. "Billie is a writer. How cool is that?"

Leon raises his eyebrows. "No way! Far out. My sister's a writer. She does thrillers and sci-fi. Maybe you've heard of her? Eleanor Kennedy?"

I don't think I've read a book since boot camp. 

"Oh, no," I stumble. "I, uh, write different stuff." 

"She never told me what she writes," Claire says, still in a cheerful tone. She leans closer to the table, doing one of those loud-whispers that everyone can still hear. "I bet she writes sex stuff." 

My eyes widen. She misreads my look of confusion, again. Girl's got to work on reading social cues. 

"Did I guess it?" She nudges Leon. "She's so experienced with all this stuff. It would totally make sense." 

I cannot remember a single moment where I said I had any actual experience with any of this, but I guess now we're operating under the assumption that I'm an experienced unicorn. And then, I realize quickly, I'm going to have to keep the ruse up or risk giving myself away. 

Shit. 

"Um, yeah. You caught me." I try to suppress a nervous giggle. 

"No kidding," Leon replies. "Do you write books, articles, short stories?"

"Articles." I'm just taking whatever bait they throw at me at this point. 

"Are they in magazines?" Claire asks. "We'll have to go out and read them."

"Uh, no, not quite." 

"Online?" Leon asks. 

I'm taking more of the bait. "Yes. Uh, online." 

"That's super cool!" Claire enthuses. "What site do you write on?" 

"I'm actually a ghost writer." It's my last-ditch attempt at being a good liar. Somehow it's working, because Claire and Leon are nodding along. 

"A ghost writer. So mysterious," Claire replies. 

I laugh along. "Yeah. It's why I can't tell you too much. Contract, you know?" 

"Is there an article you're working on now?" I can't tell if Leon is suspicious or just really, really bad at conversation pacing. 

"Um." I have to rack my brain for something, anything sexual. Obviously, it can't be "How to Have Sex". It's got to be something unique. Something that would actually make me look as experienced as Claire decided to assume I am. 

"Feet." I blurt. People are attracted to feet, right? I think one of the guys on the STARS team used to brag about his foot fetish. Was it Barry or Brad?

"Oh, that's cool," Leon replies. "Are you into feet?"

Gross. No. 

"Uh," I giggle nervously. Now I sound like Claire. "No, that's not my thing, personally. Uh, is that something you guys are, uh, into?"

Claire swirls her coffee cup around before taking a sip, then daintily setting it down. We literally sit in silence and watch her. "We tried doing a foot thing once, but we couldn't get into it. Feet just doesn't quite do it for us." 

Then Leon takes a long sip of his coffee. "What are some of your fetishes and kinks, Billie? What are some things you've wanted to try in bed? Hopefully we'll all sort of match up." 

I freeze. I have no idea. Literally, absolutely no earthly idea. 

He continues on. "We've always wanted to try voyeurism and exhibitionism. Maybe some cuckolding, but that'll probably be later down the line." 

I nod along as if I know what any of those words mean. 

Claire slaps his arm. "Leon! We're in public! Let's talk about it more when we're together in private." 

"Yeah, let's just get to know each other more first," I blurt. "You know. We're making sure we vibe?" I sound way more confident than I'm feeling. 

"Totally agreed," Claire says. 

The rest of the conversation sort of goes on in a blur, though. I think I chimed in here and there, but it was a lot about their hobbies, raising a teenager, and how Leon once skinny dipped in a lake in high school and apparently almost got arrested, which I find hard to believe with his stoic nature. 

After about an hour, Sherry comes to my rescue. Well, kind of. 

"Leon, we have to go pick Sherry up from Corrine's." Claire stands, sort of dragging Leon up with her. "I'm so sorry, Billie. Sherry's best friend's mom gets really pissy when we're late picking her up. You'd think the lady would take the pole out of her ass; she's known Sherry for two years now." 

"Maybe she's into having a pole up her ass." That's the best joke I'll probably ever tell in my life. 

Claire laughs as if it's the best joke she's ever _heard_ in her life. Leon sort of chuckles along. 

"I'll call you later," Claire says. "Let's plan a dinner date. And then, you know, see where things go." 

They're out the door quickly. I stay at the table for a few moments. 

Fetishes. Dinner. "Let's see where things go". It's getting real this time.

— —

The obvious solution, or maybe the only solution, is to start researching kinks and fetishes. I thought it would be as easy as typing "kink" and "fetish" into the search bar, but it keeps coming up with a lot of porn. I don't think I can stomach "Ella Mae Hot Fetish XXX Golden Shower". 

So then I refer back to the fetishes that Leon told me about. That gets me a little bit further. 

_Voyeurism: Observing unsuspecting people in erotic situations, such as undressing or engaging in sexual activities._

Gross. What the fuck? 

_In the kink community, however, most find it important to stress consent, and set boundaries on what is and isn't okay to watch._

Okay, I guess that's a tiny bit better. So they want to watch me undress?

_Exhibitionism: A broad term encompassing sexual acts in public, or exposing of one's private areas in an untraditional setting._

Um, no thank you. 

_Cuckolding: A female sleeping with other men (or other people) to humiliate her male partner. Often paired with degrading talk._

Okay, double no thank you. 

All of those sound equally uncomfortable, but I've got to come up with something. Maybe there's something super mild that I can pretend to be into so I'm not, you know, exposing my ass in the middle of Cafe Origin. 

I try "List of Kinks", and then find an article on how people who are into kinky sex used to be considered deviants by society and, apparently, were considered to be psychologically damaged, but we've moved on from that. Useful, maybe. Good to know. But it's not helping my predicament here. 

So then I try "List of Fetishes". 

_Katoptronophilia: Having sex in front of a mirror_

_Knismolagnia: Being aroused by tickling_

_Nasolingus: Sucking someone's nose_

_Eproctophilia: Being aroused by anal flatulence._

Farts? People are into farts? That's got to be the least sexy thing on the entire planet. I hope to god Claire and Leon aren't into that one. Finding Chris is not worth it. 

I'm on an article on "Looners", which is apparently a term for people who are into balloons, when Jarod calls. Of course Jarod decides to call at the worst fucking possible time ever. 

"Valentine!" he screams. 

"It's seven PM. What do you want?" 

"There's been another break-in at the London headquarters." He sounds a little more fired up about it this time. 

"Isn't it, like, one AM there?" I ask. 

"It happened around 12:30 their time. Someone managed to get in with a key card. Security didn't arrive on the premises until about 12:45, so the intruder had at least fifteen minutes' access to the building."

"Did they take any files?" 

"They've got security searching the premises now. We won't have confirmation on what, if anything, was taken for probably another hour or so." 

I should be panicking. But it's really hard to take Jarod seriously when I've got an article on balloon sex open in another window. 

"Is there a chance they got the Umbrella files?" I ask, trying to stifle a laugh. 

"Is this funny to you, Valentine?" 

"No," I quickly blurt. "I'm just, uh, in disbelief?"

"The Umbrella files are still there, but there's evidence they may have been tampered with. We can't know for sure, but there's a chance somebody's gotten their hands on it. There's a ton of classified information in there, and we could be in big trouble if someone did get their hands on it." 

_Looners are generally divided into two subsections: "poppers" and "non-poppers". Poppers find the act of popping balloons to be sexual, while non-poppers believe that balloons should only be stroked gently and squeezed, but not popped._

"I, uh..." I'm trying not to become flustered. "What should we do?"

"There's nothing we can do right now." That's got to be a hard thing for Jarod to say. "But we have to keep an eye out. Start documenting any suspicious behavior." 

"Got it." 

I've never been more thankful for him hanging up quickly. The break-in should seriously concern me. But all I can think of is the fact that I've probably got maybe, like, twenty-four hours tops to come up with a list of fetishes and kinks for Billie Easter. 

My billie12345 email dings. 

_Billie,_

_I wanted to call but Leon's asleep. He had a long day. Let's do dinner this Saturday? We can maybe get dressed up and head to a nice restaurant, then come back to our place and just let things happen. I think it'll go really well. What do you think?_

_\- Claire_

It's showtime, whether I like it or not. I'm too far in to turn back now. 

_Claire,_

_Saturday sounds good. Give me a time and I'll meet you at your house._

_\- Billie_


	3. Ninety Day Rule Virgin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for all the love and support you guys have shown so far! 
> 
> If you enjoy this chapter, leave a comment and let me know. I also love hearing your theories on where the plot might go next, so keep them coming.

_June 12th_

_Let me go on record by saying that I'm not, technically, a virgin. But I can count every sexual experience I've had on one hand._

_1\. Beginning of senior year of high school. My boyfriend, Noah, convinces me to give him head. I do it and I'm not satisfied._

_2\. End of senior year. Noah wants to have sex after prom. We do it in his van. It lasts thirty seconds. It didn't even have time to hurt like it's supposed to._

_3\. Second year of college, right before boot camp. I go to a party, and there's this girl. Can't remember her name. We had half-sex. She went down on me, but when I went to return the favor, she told me I was terrible and decided to call it a night._

_4\. Chris (yes, really) gets really drunk one night and tells me I'm sexy (yeah right). He grabs my boob. I shove him off. He apologizes profusely the next morning._

_4.5 Chris and I both get really drunk the next night. We're on the bed and we go to make out, but right as he inches in, I burp. Really loudly. And it kills the mood because he can't stop laughing._

_There's this old belief that a woman is a virgin again after ninety days of no sex. In that case, I'm a virgin, like, a million times over. So maybe I really don't know what I'm doing._

My hand starts to cramp, so I quickly close Wild GRL. Honestly, what a pathetic entry. Maybe getting a journal wasn't the best idea after all. 

The whole no-sex thing is just sort of a sacrifice. I lost my parents to an infectious disease my freshman year of college which was linked to a possible bioterrorism attack. Everything I've done in my career since then was to prevent something like that from happening again. Between Delta Force, STARS, and the BSAA, I've done so much. I'm "well-decorated", as Jarod likes to tell me sarcastically. This whole Chris thing was supposed to be my breather, something easy, my way of getting my head screwed back on after what happened in Raccoon City. And here I am, mad at myself because I haven't had enough sex. 

Damn, maybe _that_ should've gone in my journal. 

My Billie email idles on my computer screen, and I remember that I've got an upcoming dinner date with Claire and Leon, and that I am grossly underprepared. So I throw on what I affectionately like to refer to as my "Walmart uniform": an old pink tank top and my sweatpants with a hole just underneath my ass. My closet lacks anything remotely sexy, and I need a cheap place to buy some cute-slash-mildly-slutty outfit pieces for this project. BSAA isn’t exactly paying me six figures, here. 

There’s a lot of skills I have, but picking out an outfit for a “date night” is definitely not one of them. Can you even call it a date night? Is that what we’re doing, dating? I’ve learned so much, and yet, I feel like I haven’t learned anything at all. The women’s clothing section slaps me in the face as soon as I walk into the door. I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I assumed that, somehow, the perfect outfit would just appear out of nowhere, in my size, ready to be worn. Instead, it’s nothing but racks of jeans and grandma nightgowns and t-shirts that read “My Buns Belong at the Beach” and “Surfer Girl WARNING: Big Wave Attitude”. I don’t even live near either coast. 

So I wander over to the magazine aisle. Yes, really. I think back to all of those old issues of _Cosmo_ my freshman college roommate used to leave around our dorm room. She'd tell me she only bought them to read the fashion articles, but we both knew she was into the sexy stuff written in them. Regardless, maybe they'd help me find something, you know, slutty-but-not-too-slutty. 

"Bad Girls On Top: How to Drive His Primal Urges" plasters the majority of the cover, next to some generic model who's probably famous to people who actually care about pop culture. In the corner, there's a little block of text that reads "50 Outfits for Date Night". Perfect. 

I flip open the magazine, flipping past the editor's notes and briefly scanning the table of contents. I flip past the celebrity interview and attempt to flip past the Bad Girls On Top article, but some of the positions kind of catch my eye. In a bad way. One's got a girl hanging from a low pull-up bar while the guy squats on his knees, and I guess the girl is supposed to do pull-ups with a dick inside her? Is that something people actually do? I haven't watched enough porn in my lifetime. 

I finally manage to get to the "50 Outfits for Date Night" page in the back of the magazine.

_Update your little black dress with a bold red necklace and red high heels. Red suggests you're confident and bold and-_

"Feeling a bit randy there?” 

I look up. An old man, literally no younger than seventy-five, strolls past me in the aisle on a walker, carrying an issue of _The New Yorker_. He winks at me. 

"You're a bad girl, eh?” 

I fold the magazine over onto my thumb, saving my spot. "Um, no...just looking." It comes out barely louder than a squeak. 

He walker-strolls closer. "I'd let you be on top of me, baby girl." 

That's enough for me. I toss the magazine to the side, apologizing under my breath to the underpaid Walmart employee that's going to have to pick that up after me. I make a mad dash back to the women's section, losing him in the process. 

I enjoy the “little black dress” idea, though. It takes a little thumbing around but I finally stumble on this kind-of-off-the-shoulder piece that can almost pass for sexy. Well, I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be off-the-shoulder or if I just picked one out that’s too big. 

Then, as I’m slipping it back off, I realize how ugly my bra and underwear are. Like, frayed in the corners, baggy, beige, and not something people want to find when they undress a woman. Probably. Was this date going to lead to sex? What if all it took was an ugly bra to exile me from unicorn duty? Would it give away that I have no idea what I’m actually doing?

So then I grab a really generic blue lace ensemble and march to the register, ready for this whole ordeal to be over. The cashier’s an aging man, because apparently there’s an abundance of them in this town. 

“You know we have actual lingerie, right?” he muses as he rings my lace bra up. “They’ve got some really nice bodysuits.”

Buying a bra and underwear from Walmart is bad enough. I didn’t need full-blown lingerie to go with it. 

“I’m good, thank you,” I bark back. 

“Well you have fun on your date, little lady.” He winks at me as he hands me his bag. 

_Thanks._

_— —_

“Billie! Oh my gosh! That dress looks amazing on you!” Claire muses as soon as I walk through the door. She pulls me into one of those awkward hugs where you kind of hover over each other, then kisses me on the cheek. “Leon! Come in here and tell Billie how great she looks!” 

Leon wanders in a short time after, adjusting the watch on his wrist. My knees weaken a little bit. He’s quite handsome, and he’s cleaned up really well in slacks and a navy button-down shirt. 

“You look great, Billie,” he mutters somewhat absentmindedly. 

She gestures toward the living room. “Here! You guys have a seat for a second, let me just get myself situated.” She starts to march out of the room, but a mysterious blonde figure wanders in and stops her. 

“Hey guys. Are you going out somewhere?” It must be Sherry. She’s short and kind of lanky, and has this tired, needy look in her eye. She doesn’t exactly exude teenage attitude. In fact, she seems a little quiet. 

Claire looks mildly caught off guard. “Isn’t Corrine having a sleepover tonight?” 

Sherry sighs. It’s wispy and weak. “Corrine got mono. I think from her boyfriend.” She giggles when she says the word boyfriend. “Yuck, right?” 

The irony. 

Sherry leans over, eyeing me briefly before turning her attention back to Claire. “Who’s that?” 

Claire doesn’t bother to let me introduce myself, thankfully. “This is my friend Billie.” Claire gestures and I wave. 

“Oh.” Sherry’s unimpressed. “Friend from where?” 

Leon, by now, has sunk into the couch, eyeing Claire, as if it’s her job to justify my existence in his house. 

“An old friend of mine,” Claire insists. “The three of us are going out to dinner to catch up.” 

Sherry glances back and forth between Leon, Claire, and I, almost as if she’s deciding whether or not to believe Claire. I guess she buys it, though, because she shrugs and wanders off. 

“There’s a pizza in the freezer if you want to heat it up for dinner!” Claire shouts as Sherry shuts her bedroom (I think) door behind her. She then briefly turns to us, flashing a smile, when the phone rings. 

“Christ, it never ends, does it?” Claire attempts to joke. “I’ll answer it. You guys just give me a minute.” 

Leon and I sit in silence for several seconds. He doesn’t know how to make conversation, and apparently neither does Billie Easter. 

Finally, he breaks the silence. “I miss being a teenager.” 

I laugh. “Really?” 

He snorts. “No. But Sherry makes it look so easy. She’s off in her own little la-la land half the time. It’s nothing like all the parenting books say, you know, raising teens.” 

I nod along, as if I have any idea. 

He leans back. “You do look really beautiful tonight, Billie.” His eyes pierce into me. My stomach drops. God, his hair, and his eyes, his muscles, the way a tiny bit of chest hair peeks through the top of his shirt…

My legs shake and I accidentally hit my bag with my foot, sending its contents spilling all over the carpet. 

“Oh! God, I’m so sorry.” My cheeks must be burning. I wonder how tomato-y my face has gone by now. 

He smiles and bends over, helping me scoop the contents back into my bag. He stumbles upon something, lifting it up and eyeing it closely. 

“Raccoon Police Department?” He’s got my old badge holder in his hand. 

Shit. I forgot to take it out of my bag. It’s not even any use anymore; why am I holding onto it? 

He looks to me with the most suspicious eyes I’ve ever seen in my entire life. “Is this yours?” 

I quickly snatch the badge holder away and stuff it in my purse, then lament myself for getting so panicked, because now I look even more suspicious. “Um, it was my brother’s.” I don’t even have a brother. I’m an only child. 

“Really?” Leon asks. 

“Yeah. Um, Officer Edward Easter. He, uh, he passed away, uh, yeah, so I carry the badge around.” It’s a terrible thing to lie about, I know. But I’m in panic mode. 

Leon narrows his eyes even more. “Interesting.” It takes him a good thirty seconds to soften his face. Maybe he can see how utterly terrified I am right now. “Well, I’m so sorry for your loss.” He scoops the rest of my stuff back into my bag and sits back down on the couch. 

Claire wanders back into the living room, not a moment too soon. She stands on one foot, trying to get a high heel on. Good for her. I had to stick with my lowly sandals, because high heels and Jill Valentine do not mix. 

“Sorry about that. That was my brother.” Claire briefly turns to me, as if I’m the only one who needs an explanation. “Chris.” 

I’d have stumbled backwards if I wasn’t on the couch. Holy fucking shit. She had been talking to Chris. He had been _right there._ If I had somehow known to bolt off the couch and steal the phone out of Claire’s hand, I could’ve screamed at him, demanded to know where he was, ended this whole mission without having to keep this Billie Easter shit up. But it’s too late. 

Leon shifts forward, like he’s ready to stand up, but doesn’t want to commit to it. “Ah. How’s he doing?” 

Claire rolls her eyes. “He’s hanging in there. Whatever. I’ll call him back later. I’m ready to eat!” 

Leon stands. They both look to me, confused. It takes me a second to register that my shot at getting information about Chris is gone, and that I’m going to have to keep going as Billie Easter if I want any more goddamn information. 

— —

Dinner went on in mediocrity. We ate at one of those places that’s really fancy on the outside but in actuality has terrible tasting food. Or maybe it was just nerves. Either way, I could barely stomach my chicken caesar salad. 

The conversation refused to move past pleasantries. How well do you have to know someone to start talking about _the deep shit_ with them? Namely, you know, “where’s your brother and how do I find him?”. But other things, too. I guess. 

Claire went on and on about how she regrets joining the PTA at Sherry’s high school, because she doesn’t “vibe well” with the soccer moms who are “twice her age”, which is probably a gross exaggeration. Claire might as well get the word “vibe” tattooed on her with how much she uses the damn word. 

Leon spoke a little bit about a case he’s pursuing; petty theft at a nursing home that left a bunch of old people pissed. Is that what it’s like to be a normal cop? I never had that experience before. 

Then, of course, they ask what I’ve been writing lately. I’m suddenly thankful I did all that research, because I tell them I’m ghostwriting an article on “Unusual Fetishes”. They ask for more details, but I don’t feel like explaining fart and balloon sex in the middle of a public place, so I tell them it’s confidential. 

The ride home didn’t seem threatening at first, until Claire told me I could sit in the front while she drove. She gripped her left hand on the steering wheel and then meekly asked if she could hold my hand on the way back. I have to admit, her hand felt pretty nice in mine, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what was going to happen once we made it back to the house. 

She pulls into the driveway and turns off the engine. We sit in silence for several seconds. All three of us are avoiding eye contact.

“I think it’s really cool that you’ve done this before, Billie,” Claire finally whispers. “We’re really nervous. Right Leon?” 

I turn my gaze back to Leon, who’s probably been zoned out since the moment we got in the car. He stiffens up. 

“Yeah. We’re nervous.” 

Claire’s looking at me with puppy-dog eyes, and Leon’s sort of shooting me a “now what?” look. It takes a moment before I realize that I’m, somehow, in control of this situation. 

I unbuckle my seatbelt. I wonder if I can use my newfound control to slow things down, like, majorly. “There’s, uh, no need to be nervous,” I lie. “Let’s just, uh, go sit on the couch and just relax.” 

Claire nods along enthusiastically. Leon sort of half-nods as we get out of the car. I notice, out of the corner of my eye, that he’s staring at me, and I figure that if I ponder it too long, my cheeks will start burning again. 

Loud music blares from the back of the house as soon as we walk in. Sherry, I reckon. I remember being a teenager and blasting loud music from my room whenever I wanted to hide something from my parents. Namely, make-out sessions with Noah, who I’d sneak in, and maybe the occasional joint or two. Maybe Sherry’s hiding a boyfriend (or girlfriend) in her room, or smoking pot and thinking the sound will cover it up somehow. 

Or maybe she knows her parents are into some freaky shit and wants to drown it out. 

Leon sits himself down between Claire and I on the couch. Nobody says anything for a long while. Nobody moves a muscle, and nobody looks at each other.

Finally, Claire inches herself closer to Leon. "Let's, uh, kiss? And Billie can watch and see if she likes it?" It comes out more of a timid question than a command. 

Leon complies and scoots closer to Claire, leaving a considerable gap between the two of us. They angle their bodies toward me, and then she pulls him in. The kissing progresses from mild to intense in a matter of seconds. She's running her fingers through his hair. He's got his hands on her lower back. He picks up a leg, straddling her as the kiss deepens and deepens. His hand slowly creeps up her blouse, exposing just the tiniest bit of a lilac-colored bra. 

And I'm just kind of sitting there. It’s been several minutes. How am I supposed to feel about all of this? I can't decide. 

Finally, Claire pulls away, grinning mischievously. Well, the closest she can get to a mischievous grin. "We can't leave Billie out." She pushes Leon back to his starting position, then leans over his lap, facing me. "Billie, can I kiss you?" 

Kissing's harmless, and I already feel awkward enough. So I nod and she pulls me forward, and we're kissing while awkwardly hovering over Leon's lap. Her lips are soft and reminiscent of strawberry lip balm. Her tongue tries to find its way in, but we're at too awkward of an angle. It's not a bad experience, by any means. 

She pulls away, flashing the same grin she had before. "I've never kissed a girl before. That was _so_ thrilling. Now, do you guys want to kiss each other?" 

I sit back up. Leon looks at me, and I kind of shrug, and we both sort of half-nod. Neither of us wants to make the first move. Eventually, Claire nudges Leon and he pulls me into a kiss. 

This one's a little bit nicer, in perfect honesty. It's firmer and he seems to have a better understanding of what he's doing. In fact, we both get a little caught up in the moment. I fall backward, and he climbs on top, deepening the kiss. His hands don't wander; he just uses them to sort of pin me down. I think I can hear Claire cheering in the background. 

Then, he inches just a little bit closer, and I feel something stiffening and throbbing against my thigh. 

_Oh shit_. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. 

I shriek, tumbling out of his grip and falling onto the floor. 

"Whoa! Billie! Are you okay?" Claire asks, holding her hand out. I take it and she lifts me up to a sitting position. 

"I, uh, penis. Whoa," I stutter like a complete idiot. 

Leon curls his legs up and hugs them. "Yeah. Uh, I own one." 

They're both staring at me with the most bewildered eyes. Claire looks like she's about to cry. Leon's just gone pale, hugging his knees tight to cover what's left of his falling hard-on. It actually kind of pains me to see them feeling so ashamed, after they'd told me how nervous they were. I feel bad. 

"I'm so sorry," I blurt. "That is totally my bad. I should've mentioned that, uh...I'm on my period, so I have to take it easy." My actual period isn't due for another two weeks, so I don't know what's going to happen when that rolls around. "That was really wonderful, though. You guys are amazing. I really enjoyed it. I just, uh...sex." 

Claire softens up. "Oh my gosh! We weren't going to have sex yet. We haven't had the talk! We were just teasing around a bit." She sighs. "I'm relieved to know you didn't find it too weird." 

The talk?

Claire continues rambling on. "I read all the websites and they said it's important to talk about, you know, like, if you're on birth control, condoms or no condoms, hard limits in bed, safe words, all that stuff. I mean, you already know that.” I'm thankful for the explanation, but not exactly ready for everything that comes with it. 

We hear a door open, and the blaring music gets louder for a moment. Then, of course, Sherry conveniently wanders out. 

"I heard a thud. Is everything okay?" Sherry sort of whimpers. She eyes me, then looks to Claire and Leon, demanding an explanation with her eyes. 

How could she have possibly heard me fall with that music playing so loudly? I must've tumbled harder than I thought I had. 

I quickly sit back down on the couch. My face must look like a plum by now. 

"Billie was trying to show us one of her old, uh, cheerleading moves from back in the day, and she stumbled a bit," Claire lies. Awkward as she is, she's good with coming up with excuses. 

Sherry narrows her eyes at me. She must get it from her dad. "You were a cheerleader?" 

I have no choice but to follow along. "Yeah. It was forever ago, though." 

Sherry shrugs. She wanders into the kitchen, grabs an ice cream sandwich from the freezer, and saunters off. 

"I think we're all getting a little tired," Leon says. He still sounds a little freaked out. "I, uh, had fun. Let's do this again another night?" 

I quickly stand, ready to take the cue. "Yeah! I had fun, too! I'm really excited to see you guys again soon." 

— —

The whole, um, making out encounter was awkward, sure, but all I can think about on my ride home is Claire's conversation with Chris. I can't stop beating myself up for it. He had been right there. He's so close, yet so far away. 

I needed to build Claire's trust, and part of that probably involved not shrieking and falling down the minute things get hot and heavy. The look of pain on her face genuinely kind of hurt me a bit. I'm definitely too far in. 

I need to get it together. 

I pull my keys out to unlock my apartment, only to find that it's already unlocked. Shit. Did I forget to lock it before I left? Did someone break in? That's the last thing I needed after all of this. 

I carefully swing the door open, and immediately hear a "Jill!" I scream, reaching for the pepper spray in my purse. Thankfully, my gun's not too far away. 

"Who's there?" I want to sound tough, but my voice cracks. 

I hear footsteps, followed by the sounds of a bottle clinking against the wall. I see a familiar mop of wavy brown hair resting against unfairly beautiful tanned skin. 

I relax, shutting the door behind me and throwing my purse down. "Carlos? What the hell are you doing here? You didn't even bother to warn me?" 

"I thought I'd surprise you. I didn't think you'd be out. You're usually such a homebody." 

"How'd you even get in?" 

He motions his head toward the couch. We both sit down. "You gave me a spare key, remember? So we could have beautiful moments like this." He hands me the beer, and I gladly take a sip. Lord knows I need one. "Hang on, I'll grab another one for myself." 

I don't think I've seen Carlos in several months. And of course, the night he comes to visit happens to be one of the most awkward nights of my life. 

He hops back onto the couch, smiling that stupid Carlos grin before taking a sip. 

"You're done with training?" I ask. 

He shakes his head. "I wish. I do only have a few more weeks, though. BSAA's keeping me just a little bit longer to make sure all of the Umbrella propaganda's out of my head, I guess." He takes another long sip. "Thank you, though, for the job recommendation. I really appreciate it." 

"Of course." 

I'm ready to ask him how training's going, but he's quick to cut me off. "So, you've got a hot dress on, I see. Did you go out somewhere?" 

Ah, shit. 

"Yeah, uh, with friends," I mutter. "It's not important." 

"You weren't just going out with friends," he states matter-of-factly. 

"How do you figure?" 

He rolls his eyes. "Because for one, I'm pretty much one of your only friends, since you hole yourself up so badly. But also-" He leans closer, pulling my dress down. Apparently part of my bra had been exposed, and he's gone and exposed the whole thing. "That's not a bra you wear to visit _friends_." 

I kick him back, and he laughs. I pull the dress back up. Maybe I did get one that was too big. 

"So, a hot date?" Carlos asks. "Did you have fun?" 

"It wasn't a date." Was it?

"But you definitely weren't just hanging out with friends." 

I'm about to get flustered. I'm a terrible liar, and I'm an especially terrible liar around Carlos. 

"It's complicated," I say, which is the truth. 

He raises his eyebrows. "There's a story here that you're not telling me."

"It, uh, it's nothing."

Carlos shakes his head. "Nope. You're too far in. You have to spill. Was it a date?" 

Maybe I'll breadcrumb him and he'll leave me alone. "Yeah, it was sort of a date." 

"With who? Where did you meet them?" He eyes the bra. "Was it, you know, successful?" 

I kick him again. "It wasn't like that. Necessarily." 

"Was it a guy or girl?" 

Now I'm fidgeting. 

"Jill, you're hiding one hell of a story here, and I'm not going to leave you alone until you tell me what's up." 

I feel like a dam about to overflow, between Claire's phone call and the awkward make-out session and Carlos's surprise appearance. I stand up and quickly shut my bedroom door, just to make sure Jarod doesn't "accidentally" overhear. 

I hop back onto the couch. "Okay, if I tell you everything, you have to swear on your life you won't tell anyone." 

"Who am I going to tell? The old men running my training? You seem to forget BSAA has me on lockdown and I'm just as socially isolated as you." He smirks. "Or at least, as I thought you were." 

The words start pouring out. 

"Okay, you know, the last time I saw you, I had just gotten assigned the task of tracking Chris Redfield's whereabouts."

"That was almost eight months ago. What does that have to do with anything?" 

I exhale. "Just listen. Okay." I'm speaking so fast. "I've been trying for months to find a lead. I've looked everywhere and tried everything. I had airports sending me classified logs of their passengers. I researched census databases, car registration records, train routes from the night he disappeared from Raccoon City. Formulated possible alias he would've come up with. Tried to track down any sort of family or friend or witness. I could not find this motherfucker anywhere." 

He nods along. "So you found him and you fucked him?" 

I groan. “No! I’m not done. So one day I'm out researching in public, because believe it or not, Jarod has my room bugged and I feel like I get nothing done at home." 

"Yeah, standard on-call procedure." 

I'm tired of him interrupting. I need to get the truth out before I regret opening the can of worms. "Okay, so I'm out in public, and this weird blonde girl asks me to watch her stuff, so I do, and I look at her screen, and she's got this posting up written by Claire, Chris's sister, saying she's seeking a nanny. 'Special Nanny for our Unicorn', I think it said. So I'm excited that after months, I finally have a lead, so I come up with this alter ego and think, like, okay, let me see if I can apply for this nannying jo-"

Carlos spits his beer. Someone had to finally be the one to spit their drink out everywhere. "No. Tell me you're not serious."

"I'm not even done with my story." 

"Jill, 'Special Nanny for our Unicorn' is, like, _the_ known code for all the kinksters out there looking for someone to have a threesome with." 

I set my beer on the coffee table and fold my arms. "Yeah, well, I know that now, because I show up to Claire's house, and she clarifies that she's looking for someone to be her unicorn and join her and her partner, Leon, as like a side piece for, quote-unquote, 'in and out of the bedroom'." 

"Oh my _god_." 

I continue on. "And at first I thought I'd tell her it was a misunderstanding and go home, but it's been so long since I've had a lead, and I knew that if I blew it, I'd be right back to square one. So I kind of agreed to go along with it. Then she just sort of assumed that I'm experienced and that I know what I'm doing, but I don't, and I'm on track to totally embarrass myself." 

Carlos stares at me with wide eyes. "So, wait, did you...you know."

"No! I mean, I kissed both of them, but then things got heavy and I backed away and sort of freaked out, because I don't know how to do stuff like that, like, at all." 

He laughs for a solid minute. Like one of those big, full-on belly laughs. "That was even better of a story than I expected. Holy shit." 

I sink into the couch. "I'm glad you think it's funny." 

"Well, I applaud your commitment. Not going to lie, it's kind of badass. You're really going to jump in the sack with your former work partner's sister because you're desperate to find him."

I start running my nails against the armrest of the couch. "Well, I don't know about the 'jumping in the sack' part. I don’t know how to have a threesome. I don’t even know if I want to.”

He snorts. "It's just sex. I'm sure you just kind of bone like you normally do, but just kind of add another person in. How bad can it be?" 

I don't know how to respond. 

He leans a bit closer. "Jill...you're not about to tell me you're a virgin, are you?" 

"No!" I shout. Then I recoil. "I mean, technically speaking, no, I'm not. But, like..." There's no point in feeling embarrassed anymore. "It's been a while. I'm not super experienced. I guess if you follow the ninety-day rule, I'm a virgin."

"The ninety-day rule?" 

"It's this old belief that you're a virgin again if you haven't had sex in ninety days." 

"Okay, first of all, that's complete and utter horseshit. Second of all, it's been ninety days?" 

"It's been _ten years_. Roughly." I furrow my eyebrows. "You say that like you're out there getting laid, and not locked up in the BSAA training facility." 

He smirks. "Hey, I get around." We both know he's lying. "But ten years? Holy shit." 

We sit in silence before I reply with a sad, squeaky "Yeah." 

Of course, being the typical dude he is, he shoots me _the look_. The one he's been trying to shoot at me ever since the day we met. 

I roll my eyes. "I see the thirsty puppy-dog look you're trying to give me. Nice try. We're not going there. Especially not tonight." 

He holds his hands up. "I'm not making a move. Swear." He then sets his hand on my ankle. It's oddly comforting. "I know you're super embarrassed, but I think it's actually cool of you. You're putting yourself out there and showing some serious commitment to your job." 

I smile. "Thank you." 

More silence. At least this time, it's more comfortable. 

"How long are you out for?" I finally ask. 

"Just a few days. I didn't think you'd mind if I crashed on your couch." 

"Of course not." 

He pats my leg, then straightens up. "You want to call it a night? You look absolutely exhausted." 

I nod, standing up. I grab my purse from the floor so I can take it to my room and hang it up. And, you know, clean it out. 

"Good night, Jill. Breakfast on me in the morning." 

I smile. "Good night, Carlos." 

I gently shut my bedroom door behind me and close my eyes, embracing the silence. I feel like I haven’t had any damn silence all day. After a few minutes, I grab my purse, ready to clean it out, lest I have to make up more fictional brothers to explain the questionable items in there. 

I run my hand back over my badge holder, then pull it out. I can’t help but stare at it for a few moments. It’s got the weird, mildly phallic missile on it with a star in the middle, and the bright, impact-font letters that read “R.P.D.”. I remember all the days with STARS where we would laugh at the logo and how simplistic and kind of ugly it was. I can feel a few tears welling up in my eyes. I really miss those times. 

I flip open the badge holder, and realize my badge isn’t in it. Then I remember that I pinned it to an old uniform months ago for safekeeping. 

My interaction with Leon plays in my head again; the weird look of suspicion he gave me as he picked it up, and how he barely chose to believe my fake cover story. The way he whispered “Raccoon Police Department”, as if he were in disbelief. 

It’s only after looking at the badge holder one more time, and the ugly penis-missile, and the bad “R.P.D.” font, that I realize something.

Nowhere on the badge holder does it specifically say “Raccoon City”. 

So how did he know? 


	4. Billie's Bootcamp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you THANK YOU for all the love and support! I really appreciate it. You guys keep me going.   
> Let me know what you like and what you want to see! More Claire/Leon? More Carlos? More sex? Less sex? How do we feel about Jarod? The joy of fanfiction is that anything goes. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_Raccoon City: Population 135,000_

_A charming town just four hours west of Chicago. The town is popular amongst hardcore hiking enthusiasts for its extensive nature trails. It’s also well-known amongst bioscience students in the Midwest, as the_ Umbrella Corporation’s _headquarters are situated downtown. Many families in Raccoon City have lived here for generations, and pride themselves on living in what they call “America’s Best Kept Secret”._

I managed to dig up an old brochure that I’d hung onto after first getting assigned to Raccoon City all those years ago. It’s about the only information I can find on Raccoon City, especially from before it was obliterated. 

See, my first theory, after having a panic attack for a solid hour, was that maybe Leon had heard of Raccoon City in passing. So I opened up Wild GRL and started making a list. 

_Theory #1: He just happens to be familiar with the name Raccoon City._

You know, we live in a Chicago suburb, so not too far out from good ol’ RC. But then again, I grew up in Chicago proper and had never heard of it until I got recruited for STARS. In fact, I can almost guarantee nobody around here has heard of it. It was one of those tiny little blips on the map, one of the places where you read it and think “that’s a funny name” before forgetting it altogether. So that theory was wrong. 

In fact, it’s almost impossible to find information about Raccoon City anywhere, in part thanks to BSAA and the US Military. Sure, everyone read the news on the military dropping the missile a few years ago, but they expertly crafted the wording in news headlines to keep people from getting too alarmed: 

“Missile Dropped in Small Midwestern Research Facility After Minor Scientific Accident”

“Worried About Potential Disease, a Research Facility Has Been Shut Down by the US Government”

“A Major Disease Outbreak Has Been Prevented Thank to Swift Action from US Military”

Not a single article mentions the name: Raccoon City. Not a single one even talks about the fact that over seventy-five thousand lives were lost in the carnage. If there was one thing I thoroughly disagreed with the BSAA admin about, it was the lack of transparency with the American people on what, exactly, happened. But I understand not wanting to cause a mass panic. 

But, anger aside, it left my question unanswered: how did Leon know Raccoon City?

_Theory #2: He has family from Raccoon City._

This one made sense at first, as neither Claire nor Leon apparently have a bunch of family around. Maybe they died in the T-virus disaster. But that wouldn’t explain how he was familiar with the R.P.D. logo. He recognized it immediately. Which means he has to have a stronger tie to Raccoon City than that. 

_Theory #3: He grew up in Raccoon City._

Wouldn’t he have mentioned it, though? Like, “Oh, cool, I grew up there!”. Instead he just shot me a suspicious look and tossed the badge holder back in. 

_Theory #4: He has ties to Umbrella._

I didn’t want to think about this one. I _really_ didn’t want to think about this one. It’s not possible, is it?

Before I could ponder it further, Jarod’s voice through my speakers cuts me off. 

“Valentine! Get Carlos’s dick out of your mouth and turn your goddamn webcam on!” 

I wonder, for half a second, why he was calling so early. Then I realize it’s seven-thirty AM, and I just accidentally pulled an all-nighter. 

I peel the sticker off the webcam. I’m not sure what I’m wearing, but I don’t care. 

“I don’t have his dick in my mouth. I wish you’d stop being so vulgar.” 

“Why the hell do you look so rough, then?” 

I’d been sweating, and my hair’s a greasy, disheveled mess. Rough was probably an accurate adjective. 

“I’ve been up all night. Uh, following my lead.” 

“Right. Not fucking Carlos’s brains out.” 

“He’s on the couch! We talked for like thirty minutes and went to bed! Plus, it’s none of your business anyways.” I sigh. “Did you need something?” 

“I’m your boss. I should be able to call you without you constantly asking if I ‘need something’.” 

He doesn’t scare me. “Well, do you or do you not?” 

He rubs his face. 

“Was there another break-in?” I ask. 

“An attempted one. Still at the London headquarters. I’m not too terribly concerned about the break-ins. Security’s been beefed up. I’m more concerned that there’s evidence the Umbrella files have been tampered with.” 

“What kind of evidence?”

He’s making weird faces. I don’t know whether I believe him or not. For all I know, he could be making the break-ins up as an excuse to bother me. You know, to flood me with unnecessary video calls. 

“I don’t have all the details yet.” 

Right. 

“You’re not giving me an update on this lead you found.” 

I wish, more than anything, that I could get Jarod to leave me alone for, like, a solid week or two. But it’s clear that’s not going to happen. 

“I’m still, uh, gathering preliminary data.” 

“Preliminary data?” 

I’m so tired. I can feel my vision fogging and my brain getting spacey. 

“I’m getting in contact with the sister. You’re just going to have to give me some time.” I’m surprised I managed to get a coherent sentence out. 

“I’m really trusting you on this, Valentine. I’m going to need an update by the end of the week.” 

I’m tempted to ask “or what?”, but I refrain. I throw the sticker back over my webcam and turn the speakers off. 

My bed calls to me, and I’m tired, but I know there’s no way in hell I’m getting any sleep. My mind’s racing at a hundred miles an hour. I figure I might whip up a quick bite to eat. I may even take a swig or two of beer if I’m desperate. I don’t want to think I’m fucked enough to resort to day-drinking, but these are some pretty weird ass circumstances. 

The smell of bacon wafts through the air as soon as I step outside of my room. A pan sizzles. I’m wondering if it’s a figment of my imagination. Thankfully, it’s not.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Carlos taunts from the kitchen. 

There’s a tiny bit of beer left in a bottle sitting on the coffee table, so, being the classy person I am, I pick it up and take a giant swig. It’s warm and stale, but I don’t care at this point. My brain’s shutting down. 

“I only made bacon and pancakes, because you told me you hate eggs,” Carlos continues on, oblivious to my stumbling and tired eyes and my less-than-classy swig of beer. 

Finally, I make it to the kitchen and see Carlos flipping bacon around with a fork. He’s only wearing boxers. I pretend not to slightly enjoy the sight of his toned upper body and dramatically recoil in horror. 

He turns around and snorts. “Didn’t think you’d be up so early.”

“So you didn’t put clothes on?” 

He eyes me up and down. “You didn’t exactly cover up either, princess.”

I look down and realize I forgot to put pants on, putting my white granny panties on full display. 

He bites his lip, looks down again, and smirks. “That grooming job really seals the ‘ninety-day virgin’ argument.” 

I tug my tank top down, covering myself up. “Don’t body shame me. You’re supposed to be above that.”

“I never claimed that.” His face softens almost as soon as he says it. I guess he can see how uncomfortable I am. I’m too tired to decide whether I’m embarrassed or just angry. “I’m joking, Jill. You rock those tighty-whities no matter what’s underneath them.” 

“I’m going to go put pants on,” I sneer. 

He shrugs, and I take it as my cue to walk away.

“By the way, your vibrator’s on the counter.” 

Wonderful. Double embarrassment. Triple, if you count last night. Someone might as well get me one of those 1950s dunce caps and call it a day. 

I turn back around, then open my mouth to say something, but he quickly shuts it down. 

“Don’t try to pull the ‘it’s not mine’ thing, either. Girls aren’t fooling anyone with that shit.” 

I wish I could smack the grin off his face. 

“Why did you go searching for it? That’s, uh, private.” My voice is hoarse, only pushing me further into the Jill-is-pathetic ditch. 

“It was in the couch cushions. I rolled over it last night and it started, well, you know.” He grabs a plate from the cabinet and starts setting the sizzling bacon on top. “Please, for the love of your diaper-ass panties, tell me you wash it before using it, if it’s just sitting there in your _couch._ ”

“Of course I do.” 

“Why’s it in your living room, anyways?” 

My breathing’s shallowed. I feel some angry tears threatening to escape. My head’s really starting to spin. “Why? Because my fucking room is bugged, because I’m part of this stupid organization that has me on this stupid mission that’s gotten me into these ridiculous fucking circumstances, and I have no choice but to jerk off in my fucking living room, alone!”

I know I’m being irrational, so I stumble-run into my room. At first, I contemplate lying down for a quick nap. But with my heart racing as fast as it is (and the smell of bacon permeating the air), I know my chances of getting sleep are slim-to-none at this point. So I grab my Walmart sweatpants and slide down onto the floor, trying to catch my breath. I set my legs down and feel my left foot brush up against my R.P.D. badge holder. 

I scream and throw it across the room. I don’t care if Jarod can hear me. 

I don’t know how long I’m on the floor, but eventually I hear a knock on the door. I ignore it. So of course, Carlos just lets himself right in. 

“Jill.” His voice has softened considerably. 

I wipe away the tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “Sorry,” I mutter. 

He spots the thrown badge holder and shoots me a quizzical look. 

“There was, um, a bug,” I lie, knowing full well he’s not going to fall for my bullshit. 

He slides down to the ground with me and sets his hand on my leg. He knows it’s my “calm spot”. 

“Do you remember when the military took us to that facility after we escaped Raccoon City? And we were locked together for almost a month while they did those psych analyses?” 

I’m smirking, even though I want to be mad. “You kept calling it the worst motel you’ve ever been to.” 

He clicks his tongue. “We learned a lot about each other. I learned that you’re a terrible liar, and you take things too seriously, and that deep down, you’re sensitive and things weigh on you. Oh, and you have a disturbingly consistent bowel schedule.” 

He’s making me smile. I normally hate when he does that, but right now, it’s much appreciated. “That three weeks was almost as bad as the shit that went down in Raccoon City in the first place. But you’re right. And _I_ learned that you’re great at using humor to deflect your emotions.” 

We both exchange “the look”. Hell, I can’t believe how much I’ve missed him. 

“No, seriously though. It’s eight-thirteen. You’re late for your morning round. I don’t want you too backed up for the two-forty-five dump.” 

I shove him, and we both laugh for a solid minute or two. It feels amazing. 

“Here’s the plan, Jill,” Carlos announces. “We’re going to go eat the fuck out of that bacon and pancakes, and then I’m going to make you let your guard down so we can manage this little panic attack here.” 

I nod. “Okay.” 

He taps my leg and stands up. I follow suit. 

“Just one question,” I say. 

“What?”

“How do we eat ‘the fuck’ out of bacon?”

He snorts. “Who’s using deflective humor now?” 

— —

I feel much better after breakfast. Carlos and I probably ate enough for three or four people, which is the best way to eat bacon and pancakes. He brewed some stale coffee I had sitting in the back of my pantry, which didn’t taste all that great, but at least helped stave off the budding headache behind my eyes. 

Carlos lets me take up most of the couch after we eat, sitting on the arm and occasionally rubbing my feet. It’d seem like a romantic gesture if we weren’t burping up bacon the whole time. 

“You were up all night last night,” he states matter-of-factly.

“How do you know?” 

“Well, I rolled over _Dmitri_ at about four AM, and your bedroom light was still on.”

“Dmitri?”

He eyes my vibrator, which is still sitting on the counter. I scoff. 

“You named my vibrator?” 

“Yeah, because then when people ask who you’ve been fucking, you tell them ‘Dmitri’ and technically you’re not lying.” 

I kick him, and he throws his hands up, as if to tell me “I deserved that”. 

“I had a lot on my mind,” I say. My stomach starts churning and gurgling, making the most unholy noises I’ve ever heard. Does a lack of sleep cause digestion issues?

“Like what?” 

No point in hiding anything from him at this point. “Last night, I got really nervous and accidentally kicked my bag, which sent everything spilling. Including my R.P.D. badge.” 

His eyes widen as he nods. “Okay. So you, uh, left a few key details out last night when debriefing me, apparently.”

“Okay, so he picked it up and he said ‘Raccoon Police Department’. But nowhere on the actual badge holder does it say ‘Raccoon Police Department’. Which means he’s got to be familiar with the logo. Which sent me into major panic mode.” 

“Are you sure it doesn’t say Raccoon City anywhere?”

“Positive. I scanned it over a million times.” 

He taps his hand against the couch. “Let’s think logically here. Claire is Chris’s sister. Chris was part of R.P.D., so that could be where Leon recognizes the logo from. It might not be as big of a catastrophe as you’re making it out to be.” 

My gut told me that wasn’t the right answer. You know, the same gut feeling that had me chase Claire’s unicorn post in the first place. 

“I don’t know if that makes my situation any better.” 

“Well what did you tell him when he asked about it?”

I rub my face. “I told him I had an older brother who used to be in R.P.D. before he died.” 

“Jill.” 

I sit up, ever so slightly. “I know, I know. I freaked out.” 

“What did Claire say?” 

“She was in the other room. Talking to Chris. Another reason I panicked.” 

He stands up. “Wait a minute. _Chris_ called their home line? And you’re dwelling on the whole debacle with Leon?” 

“He hung up before I had a chance to intercept.” 

He throws his hands up. “So? You give Jarod their home address and he can trace the calling location. Boom. Done. No more Unicorn Jill Valentine.” 

I bite my lip. “They think my name is Billie Easter.” 

He smacks his forehead all dramatically. “Okay, no offense here, but how on earth did you make it onto the STARS team?” 

Ouch. I ignore the insult. “I thought on it a little bit. You can’t search someone’s phone records without a warrant, and they’re always super reluctant to get one at a cop’s residence, because shit can hit the fan. Plus, Chris could have easily spoofed the phone number. So not only would I destroy Claire and Leon’s trust, I’d probably lose BSAA’s, too.” 

“So basically-“

“ _Basically_ , if I want answers, I have to keep this act up. Because not only do I need to find Chris’s whereabouts, but now I need to figure out this whole Leon-R.P.D. thing.” 

Letting everything off my chest makes me feel a million times better. In fact, I start to feel my eyes drooping slowly. 

“Go take a nap, supercop. Then we’ll start your training.”

“My training?”

“So you don’t look like a total asshat if you do end up jumping in the sack with these two.” 

I glare at him. He throws his hands up.

“Fully clothed. We’ll just mime stuff. No physical contact between the two of us.” 

I roll my eyes and laugh before darting off to my room, eager for an hour or two of much-needed shut-eye. 

— —

About two-and-a-half hours later, my phone rings, jolting me awake. My brain’s in a fog and I kind of stumble over to the phone. 

“Hello?” My voice probably sounds super groggy. 

“Hey Billie! It’s Claire.”

“Hey Claire!” I manage to muster an excited sounding voice. 

She cuts right to the chase. “I had a lot of fun last night. I really enjoyed dinner.”

“Yeah, me too.” 

You can hear how nervous she is in her voice. “And I’m super duper sorry if we made you uncomfortable in any way. We should’ve let you know from the get-go that we were just playing around. Maybe we should’ve just had the talk right then and there, but we were having such a good time, and I-“

I’m eager to cut her off. “Hey! No, it’s okay! That whole thing was…” I swallow some residual spit pooling in the back of my throat. “Very, uh, sexy.”

“It was?”

I’m trying my best to sound like I know what I’m talking about. “Yeah. I love when, uh, you know, uh, couples do the, uh, teasing thing.” 

“Ooh. Good to know, then. I’ll keep that in mind.” It’s almost as if I can hear her twirling her hair around her finger. “So Leon has to work a bunch of doubles this week. Apparently there’s this mad man on the loose who’s been siphoning gas out of cars, and they’re working hard to try to track down the culprit. It’s scary stuff, right?” 

No. 

“Oh, wow. I’m, uh, sorry?” I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to say. 

“So anyways, maybe the two of us can have, like, a girl’s day or something. You know, like, bonding one-on-one. We can maybe get our nails done or go see a movie? Are you free tomorrow afternoon?” 

I genuinely don’t think Claire has a life. Then again, neither do I. 

“Let’s do it,” I reply, trying my best to sound excited. “I’d love to, uh, go get my nails done.” I don’t think I’ve worn nail polish in at least seven or eight years. 

“Sounds like a date! We can meet at my house around one? We can grab a bite to eat and then get our nails done?” 

“Sure.” 

An awkward silence ensues. I’m the one to break it. 

“I have to go, uh, check on my laundry, but I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Right. Okay. See you tomorrow!” 

I hang up the phone and take a deep breath. I don’t know if being with Claire alone is more or less nerve-wracking than taking on Claire and Leon together. 

I run my hands down my body, making sure I’m fully clothed this time before leaving my room. Carlos is perched on my couch, watching reruns of _Full House_ , for some reason. He sees me walk in and I think tries to grab the remote to change the channel, but realizes it’s too late. So of course, he owns up to it. It’s one of the things I admire about him. 

“You could learn a thing or two from Danny Tanner. He’s got clean counters and sweeps his floor. He’s the kind of dude that would never leave his vibrator in the couch cushions.” 

I hop down next to him on the couch. “Danny Tanner would never use a vibrator.” 

“Not true. He’s single for the first, what, like ten million episodes? And a young John Stamos lives with him? That’s how you get sexually frustrated.” He takes the remote and turns the TV off. “It’s time to focus up, _Billie Easter_.” 

“Come on,” I plead. “The name is bad enough when I have to use it with Claire and Leon. At least let me have some dignity here in my own apartment.” 

He stands, then grabs my arms and pulls me up, too. “Do you or do you not want to learn how to be a sex goddess?” He wrinkles his face. “Or at least go into Claire and Leon’s bedroom without totally embarrassing yourself?” 

“I’m already embarrassed.” 

“Better here than there.” 

“Fair enough.” 

He grabs one of my old floor lamps and drags it over. It’s purely there for decoration, if you can even call it that. I haven’t put lightbulbs in it in years. “This is going to be your fake partner. We’re going to practice on Mr. Lampy.” 

“I’m not calling him Mr. Lampy,” I insist. “That’s the least sexy name I’ve ever heard.” 

“Fine, Dmitri Junior?” 

“Carlos, I am literally about to pick Mr. Lampy up and smack you with it.” 

He grabs Mr. Lampy by the neck. Er, the spot where the lightbulb connects to the rest of the lamp. Great. Now I’ve got the stupid nickname stuck in my head. 

“We have to start with the foreplay before we get to the good stuff. I assume you have the kissing down, so we’ll skip that unit.” He’s speaking in this serious tone, as if he’s leading a legitimate seminar, and not asking me to fuck a floor lamp. “We have to think of erogenous zones. The spots where you go to drive both of them wild.” He leans Mr. Lampy closer to me. “Let’s do the neck first. If you want to look experienced, you have to know how to kiss the neck without leaving a hickey.”

“What if they want a hickey?” 

“Then leave them elsewhere. Not the neck. This isn’t middle school.” 

He hands Mr. Lampy to me. I hesitate before grabbing it. “Are you secretly filming this or something? Because this is incredibly embarrassing.” 

He grabs Mr. Lampy back. “Do you want me to do it first?” He kisses Mr. Lampy’s “neck” really gently, occasionally whipping his tongue out. After several seconds, he hands it back to me. 

“I don’t want to lick this thing,” I state matter-of-factly.

“Relax, supercop. I disinfected it while you were asleep. I planned. I’m not acting on impulse over here.” A dig that I probably deserved. 

I take a deep breath and follow suit, kissing and sucking on this poor lamp, trying to ignore the taste of metal in my mouth. 

“More gentle. Remember, no hickeys.” 

I back off with some of the pressure. After several seconds, he grabs Mr. Lampy. “Good. So what you want to do is, you want to kiss their necks for a few seconds, and then pull away. It’s sexy. It’s like teasing them. So count to ten or fifteen in your head, then pull away.” 

“Got it.” 

He holds his hand up, then makes a mad dash to the kitchen. He brings out a moldy cucumber. Not sure how long I’ve had that in my fridge.

“No. We aren’t going there,” I recoil. 

He groans. “We’re not shoving it up you or anything. Relax. Trust me.” 

“I’m not fellating a moldy cucumber, either.”

He hops onto the couch. “No, you’re not. Be patient here. That was our next unit.” 

“Carlos, if you pull your pants down right now, I swear to god.” 

He claps his hands together. “I’m not about to pull my damn pants down, Jill. Just listen to what I have to say for a second.” 

“Fine.” 

“So you progress from kissing to the oral sex stuff. The trick there is to tell them to tell _you_ how they like it. Tell them you want to be attentive to their needs. Everyone is different.”

I sit down next to him. 

“Like, let’s say he whips his dick out and is like, ‘suck it’.” 

“How romantic.” 

“You lean down and shoot him those sexy Billie Easter eyes and tell him to tell you how he likes it. He’ll think it’s sexy.” 

“What about Claire?”

“Same thing. She’ll probably be more nervous than you, if it’s her first time with a girl. If you play it cool, they won’t suspect a thing. Trust me.” 

I think of grabbing the cucumber, but I refrain. “So why did you bring the cucumber out, then?” 

He pulls a condom out from his pocket. I don’t even want to ask why he had one with him in the first place. “Because, we’re going to throwback to high school sex ed.”

“The condom on the cucumber.” I can’t say I’m in disbelief.

“Nothing says ‘inexperienced’ like not knowing how to put a condom on.” 

“Why can’t he put it on?” 

“What if he wants _you_ to?” 

Carlos hands me the wrapper and sticks the cucumber up, um, erect. I go to rip the packaging, but it doesn’t budge. So I go to use my teeth, and Carlos yanks my arm. 

“Whoa! What are you doing? That’s how you end up with a hole in it, dingus.” 

I sigh, setting the condom down. “Why do we have to use a condom, anyways?” 

“You don’t. Enjoy getting chlamydia and a baby Leon Junior.”

“Fine.” After a few tries, I manage to get the condom unwrapped. 

“Good job.” He sounds so condescending. “Now roll it onto the cucumber. Pinch the tip.” 

I follow instructions. It takes me a couple of tries to get it on. Before I can roll it down, he stops me.

“Nope. You have to be smoother than that. Try again.” 

I sigh. I roll it about halfway down. He stops me again. 

“Like you mean it, Easter!” 

I roll it down quickly, if not for nothing, to get it over with. 

“Good, much better,” Carlos insists. He grabs the cucumber and condom out of my hands and dashes to my kitchen. I hear him grab a kitchen knife from one of my drawers. 

“Tell me you’re not about to eat that cucumber.” 

“Hang on a second!” 

I hear a loud _chop_ and then a couple of snips from scissors I’d probably left out on my counter. 

“What are you doing?” I ask. 

He hops back onto the couch and hands me a quartered piece of the cucumber. There’s a little piece cut out of the bottom. 

“Why did you..” I trail off, not sure if I want to ask the question. 

“I thought it would make it a little more realistic.” 

“Huh?” 

He hands me the condom, which has now been cut in half. “Dental dam. For Claire.” 

I go to toss the cucumber, but he grabs my arm. “All you have to do is lie it on top and you’re good to go.” 

My pride is long gone at this point. I grab the cut-up condom and smooth it down onto the cucumber quarter. 

“These are easy to make. Just cut the tip, then the bottom, then across so you make a flat strip. The fact that you even know what a dental dam is will make you look more experienced.” 

Now I toss the cucumber for real. We watch it roll across the floor. Neither of us go to pick it up. 

“Okay. We’ve done some kissing. We did the oral. We’re all protected. Now for game on.” He stands back up and dramatically shoves Mr. Lampy to the floor. “When it’s time to, you know, _saddle up-_ “

I burst out laughing. I can’t help it. He laughs too, for a second, then straightens back up. “Never get down into missionary. That’s a dead giveaway. Way too vanilla. Straddle on top of Leon first.” 

“What about Claire?” I ask. 

“We’re getting to that.” He gestures toward the fallen Mr. Lampy. I know there’s no point in arguing, so I straddle the poor lamp. 

“Great. Now you look him in the eye and say, ‘am I in control or are you in control?’”

“Okay,” I affirm, ready to get this over with. 

“No, you have to _say_ it.” 

I look down at Mr. Lampy’s, um, face. I can’t imagine him as a real person. 

“Say it. I need to make sure you’ve got the sexy tone down.” 

I hate Carlos so much right now. 

“Am I in control or are you in control?” 

“Sexier.”

“Am _I_ in control or are _you_ in control?” 

Carlos pats my shoulders. “Great! Perfect! So then if he’s in control, you follow his lead. Then if you’re floppy and awkward, it looks like an act.” 

“But what if I’m in control?” 

He steps in front of me, his hands on his hips, like we’re in some sort of athletic practice. I guess this could count as a sport. “Then stay on top for a second. I don’t need to teach the, um, insertion, do I?” 

“I think I can figure that one out on my own.” 

Carlos claps his hands together. “Great. So you’re there. Stay here for about a minute. Count to sixty in your head. Then, grab Claire, who’s probably watching, and pull her into a kiss.” He grabs a pillow from my couch and shoves it into my face. I guess the pillow is Claire. 

“Okay, then what?” 

He drops the pillow on the floor. “This is where we perfect the doggy style. She’s on the floor for easy access, and he’s got, um, easy access too.” 

“Gross.” 

Carlos hops down on all fours. I still can’t believe this is happening. “We’re going to practice your form. This one can be a dead giveaway if you’re not careful.” 

I hesitate, then join him. 

“You need to make sure there’s a downward curve in your lower back. Otherwise you look tense, like a hissing cat.” 

I try to follow his directions. It feels like my stomach is going to fall onto the floor.

“No, not that low,” he insists. “If you go too low, you’ll get pinched up in there, and things will hurt like a bitch. Just trust me.” 

I try to straighten my back up a little bit. “You speak like you have firsthand experience.” 

He shrugs and grins.

“Wait, what?! You mean you’ve-” 

He sits on his legs and folds his arms. “You really about to pass some homophobic judgment right now? For real? In the position you’re in?” 

“No, but-“

“You’re allowed to be out-and-proud-like-whoever-you-want-Jill-Valentine but I can’t do the same?” 

I collapse onto my arms, into a child’s pose. “This is just the weirdest fucking time to come out to someone.”

“You brought it up, technically. I’m just owning up to it. Shit was enjoyable. I’m into it. We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. Get back on all fours.” 

He pretends not to see my dirty glare as I pull myself back up. He scoots himself over, straightening my back into an admittedly more comfortable position. 

“There. Just hold that for, you know, however long it goes. Then you can do things with Claire while you’re at it.” 

I sit up. “Okay. Are we done now?” 

“We have to do a full run of the course.” He moves his hands in small circles. “Make sure you’ve got the flow.” 

Fine. 

He grabs the other half of the cucumber, a fresh condom (seriously, where did they come from?), and moves Mr. Lampy back to starting position. 

“Okay, go!” he announces, like a sports commentator. 

It takes me a second to remember all the motions, but I get it. I kiss Mr. Lampy’s neck, then ask how he likes it, then roll the condom on the cucumber, then put the dental dam on, then toss Mr. Lampy down, straddle, and get myself into a semi-decent doggy position. I can tell, out of the corner of my eye, that Carlos is trying _really_ hard not to enjoy the show. 

I stand up and he double high-fives me. “Nice going, champ!”

I snort. “Thanks.” 

A silence fills the air. He adjusts himself. I pretend not to see the boner. 

“Now what?” I finally ask. 

We both laugh. Then, he pats my shoulder. “ _Full House_ reruns. Maybe some takeout later. We can get some pasta and get you carb-o loaded.” He wrinkles his face. “Then again, you haven’t taken a shit all day, so maybe nothing that’s going to constipate you.” 

— —

This was probably the first time I’d gone to Claire and Leon’s house without feeling nervous. Or at least, not as nervous as I usually felt. I wore the tube top again, but instead wore some jeans underneath and prayed I wouldn’t get too sweaty. 

Claire’s dressed a little more casually this time, though admittedly, she still looks gorgeous. She’s in a dark green blouse and light-wash jeans. It looks nice with her skin tone.

She beams when she sees me, pulling me into a hug that’s just a little bit tighter than usual. I enjoy it. 

“Are you starving?” she asks. “I had a super late breakfast, so no rush on my end. I’m happy to brew some coffee.” 

I never get hungry around her and Leon, so I nod. “Coffee sounds great.” 

She starts a pot and I hop onto the couch, making myself comfortable, as if I’ve known Claire and Leon forever. I can hear the faint sounds of Sherry’s music floating through the background. 

Claire comes and takes a seat next to me. “Thanks for coming to hang out today, Billie. I was starting to feel kind of lonely.” 

I smile. “I’m sure.” 

She leans back, and I find myself following her lead. Our hands brush against each other. To my surprise, I’m the one who takes hers. 

“Can I be honest with you, Billie?” 

_Yes. Please. Finally. Tell me everything._

“Of course,” I mutter. 

She leans herself closer to me. “I don’t have a lot of girlfriends. Platonic or otherwise.” Her face falls, almost like she’s sad. Maybe more reminiscent? “So I enjoy having you here.” 

I squeeze her hand. “I enjoy having you, too.” 

She’s wiping at her face. Oh god, she’s _crying._ “Leon and I.“ She stops to take a breath. “We met through, um, some shared trauma.” She’s still wiping at her face. “It’s a long story and I won’t bore you with the details. Not now, at least.” 

_No. Please. Bore me with the details. Tell me everything. Tell me how Leon knows the Raccoon Police Department. Tell me where Chris is._

“That’s okay,” I mutter softly. 

“And I love him,” she continues on. “We love each other. We have such a strong bond. But sometimes we feel so alone. I feel like I don’t have a soft shoulder to cry on. You know, like, it’s so intense, Leon and I. We have such intense feelings for each other. But it’s too much sometimes. Like, we have too much to only give to one person, you know?” 

I don’t know, but I nod along anyways. 

This time, she squeezes my hand. “And I was so scared to put myself out there. I thought we’d find someone that would ridicule us, or make it all about sex, when really, I was just hoping we could find someone to share ourselves with. Someone to love on, to have and to hold, so to speak. And you’ve just been so amazing, Billie. You’re kind and trusting and have a good sense of humor.” 

I am? I do?

“And I’m so thankful we found you. You’ve been a godsend.” She moves a stray piece of hair from her face. “I think we’re falling for you. I’m definitely falling, and I hope you are too.” 

There’s a different look in her eyes. Not just lustful anymore. Something deeper, almost. 

The coffee machine dings. Sherry’s music changes genre. The sounds start to blur out of focus. I’m feeling weak at my knees, but this time it’s different. My heart’s pounding, and there’s a rush of electricity I hadn’t felt before. 

Our faces are dangerously close to each other. She runs her hand through my hair. 

And all I can think about is how I have _no_ idea what’s about to happen here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you understood the chapter title's reference without having to Google it, I apologize for what were probably some bad years in PE class.


	5. Oh, This is a Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm back! Sorry for the hiatus, I had a birthday, minor life change, and a tiny case of writer's block all within, like, a week and a half. Wee!
> 
> This is more of a transitional chapter than anything, so it's a bit shorter. Once again, thank you so much for all of the positive feedback! You guys are amazing. Let me know what you'd like to see!

I can see a blush creeping across Claire’s face. Maybe she thinks she’s said too much. I don’t think she’s said too much. In fact, the honesty is kind of refreshing. It’s more than I’ve been giving her. 

She laughs, averting eye contact. “We met, like, what, a week ago? I know I shouldn't be jumping the gun here. I promise I’m not, like, _in love,_ I just…feel something?” 

“Me too,” I blurt. Then I realize: it might not be a complete lie. 

She runs her hand back through my hair, and I welcome the little shiver it sends down my spine. 

“Can I kiss you?” I ask impulsively. It’s as if someone else were controlling my body, or at least my words. 

She dives straight in, pressing her soft lips against mine. Her strawberry lip balm tastes much more pronounced. Her tongue creeps its way in ever so slowly as she lets herself fall onto her back, pulling me on top. 

Shit. This is a lot better than Mr. Lampy. 

Somewhere in the midst of it, I notice the music’s stopped playing. But it’s not until we hear a door open that we throw ourselves off of each other. I practically fling myself to the other side of the couch. Claire’s hair is tangled, some sweaty pieces clinging to her forehead. Her shirt’s lopsided. I’m sure I look just as bad. 

“Hey.” We hear Sherry’s faint voice just as we manage to pull away from each other. “What are you guys up to?” 

Claire clears her throat. I desperately smooth my hair down, checking to make sure my shirt is on the right way. 

“We’re, uh, chit-chatting before we go grab lunch. We were just about to leave,” Claire explains. I nod along. 

Sherry squints her eyes. She glances over to the kitchen, then back to us. “Why did you brew coffee if you’re about to leave?” 

“Because, uh, we wanted to have coffee when we got back,” Claire stupidly replies. 

“So…why wouldn’t you just brew some when you get back?” It’s so obvious Sherry isn’t buying our bullshit. 

Claire looks to me, as if I’ll be the one able to save this train wreck. 

“Um,” I stutter. “Sometimes I, uh, get really tired after eating. So I thought…I don’t know, if I needed to get back quickly after eating, I’d be able to, you know, chug some coffee down immediately?” 

I’m waiting for Claire to give me a dirty look, but instead, she just sort of nods along, as if it weren’t the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. Maybe it wasn’t. 

“So, what did you come out here for?” Claire asks. 

Sherry folds her arms. “I’m getting hungry. I was going to see if you’ve been to the store. We don’t have much here.” She steps forward. “But if you guys are going out, maybe I can come with?” 

Claire’s still looking to me. Why am I in charge of this conversation? “I mean, uh…” 

“What, so you have this mysterious friend over all the time, and I’m not allowed to meet her?” Sherry interrupts. “I’m _fifteen_. It’s not like I’m some pesky little kid with no table manners.” 

I’m starting to see some of that teenaged attitude. 

“She’s not, um, a mysterious friend,” Claire butts in. “It’s just, we, you know, spend so much time reminiscing on old memories that it’s, I don’t know, I think you’d get so bored.” 

Sherry shrugs. “But I’m also really hungry. Tell me some of the funny ones.” She shifts her weight. “Ooh, can we go to Cafe Origin? I feel like I haven’t been there in ages.” 

Do any other restaurants even exist in this neighborhood? 

It’s obvious by now that Sherry’s not taking no for an answer. _Great._ Not only am I caught up in a lie by being Billie Easter in the first place, but now I have to double-lie with Claire about how we’re old friends. I’m going to have to keep up with which lies are between Claire and I and which lies are just mine. Wild GRL is going to be hearing about this. 

Claire exhales. “Okay. But we can’t stay for long. Billie has, um, she has to leave in a couple of hours.” 

“To do what?” 

There they are. The eyes back on me. I find myself sinking into the couch a little bit. 

“I have, uh, work. I’m so swamped right now. I barely even had time to set aside to have lunch with Claire here,” I ramble.

Sherry shrugs. “Okay. Let me grab my sandals real quick and then we can go.” She wanders off, taking her sweet ass time leaving the goddamn room. 

Claire closes her eyes and smacks herself against the couch. It takes her a good thirty seconds to open them again. She’s got these guilty, pleading eyes, perhaps worse than the ones she shot me after my dumb ass shrieked and fell off the couch a couple of nights ago. 

“I’m the worst.” She mutters. “I can’t ask for you to lie for me, Billie. That’s not right. If you need to leave, you can. I can get this whole mess sorted out and-”

I’m quick to cut her off, surprisingly. I really can’t stand that look of pain on her face. It makes me want to cry, almost. “Hey, no, it’s okay. If I’m going to be around, I might as well, uh, get to know her. We can just keep things as vague as possible, and, uh, you know, share more with her another time.” It’s the same advice I’ve been trying to follow myself as _Billie Easter,_ except I ended up being a ghostwriting sex columnist with a non-existent dead brother. 

She nods aggressively. “Okay. You’re right. If this is going to move forward, we can’t hide from Sherry forever.” She stands, holding her hand out and pulling me up, too. 

Sherry wanders back in, her sandals click-clacking against the tile floor. “What are you guys waiting for? I thought Billie was in a hurry.” 

— —

I know it’s only been a few days, but I know for a fact that Claire isn’t a quiet person. So the silent car ride to Cafe Origin feels like one of the most awkward car rides of my entire life. I can read Claire’s face: she’s panicked about Sherry finding out I’m her sex toy and not her _old friend_. 

I’m not as freaked out as I should be. Hell, I’ve already been lying for this long. In a weird way, I think I’m actually kind of glad Sherry’s here, because things were about to get really heated with Claire. 

And I’m not ready yet. Not even after my stupid training course. 

Any ounce of teenage attitude Sherry carried with her into the living room earlier dissipated the minute we stepped foot in Cafe Origin. She sort of cowered behind Claire as we plopped ourselves down at our usual table in the back corner. Is it weird that we have a usual table now?

“Aren’t you going to go order for us?” Sherry asks in an airy tone. 

Claire laughs nervously. There’s no way Sherry’s oblivious to the awkward tension. “Slow down there, tiger! What do you want?” 

“I get the same thing every time I come here.” 

Claire sighs. “Okay. Got it.” She tugs on my arm. “We’ll go ahead and go order, then.” 

Sherry furrows her eyebrows. “You’re just going to leave me here? By myself?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you weren’t a kid anymore and could handle yourself,” Claire spits, in a very un-Claire-like tone. 

Even Sherry’s taken aback. She goes completely quiet and gestures for us to get in line. 

Claire’s breathing shallows as we approach the counter. There’s quite a few groups ahead of us, thank god, because Claire looks like she’s literally about to lose her shit. 

“Sherry’s going to figure everything out,” she wheezes. 

“I don’t think she really cares,” I insist. “If you, uh, keep acting weird, _then_ she’s going to start to get suspicious.” 

The line moves up. Claire fumbles through her bag, now struggling to find her wallet. What a mess. “She’s not naive. Trust me. She picks up on situations pretty quickly.”

I glance over to our table out of the corner of my eye. Sherry’s twirling a piece of hair between her fingers. She accidentally yanks too hard and I watch a piece of hair flutter out of her fingers and onto the floor. She winces for half a second, then continues twirling, grabbing a new chunk. She’s looking like the poster child of a space case. 

The line moves up again. “Are you sure about that?” I ask. 

“If she asks what you do for a living, please don’t tell her.” 

I forget, for a moment, that Claire thinks I’m a sex columnist, and almost open my mouth about how BSAA is top-secret anyways. Autopilot, you know. Thankfully, she cuts me off. 

“You know, like, maybe just say you’re a ghostwriter and leave the sex part out. If she asks, say you write fashion articles.” 

We both glance down at my old tube top, which constantly threatens to fall down, and my functional, not-quite-sexy jeans. Fashion? 

The line moves up, again. “I don’t think she’ll buy it. Maybe I’ll say I do top secret work.” 

Claire shakes her head. “No, because then she’ll start asking questions. Just do fashion.” 

“Fine.” 

It’s finally our turn. Claire finds her wallet just in the nick of time and we order. It occurs to me somewhere in the back of my mind that I should probably offer to pay at some point, but the last thing I need is for her to see my credit card and “Jill Valentine” written on it. 

We sit down with our number. Sherry’s still twisting her hair, as if her life depends on it. She’s ready to pounce, though. “So, how did you guys meet exactly? I never got the story.” 

I feel Claire lurch into the table. I look to her and gesture for her to explain. Let’s face it, I’m a terrible liar. 

“We, uh, we met back in college,” Claire mutters. 

Sherry raises her eyebrows. “Leon said that you met in high school.” 

It’s super weird to hear her refer to her dad as “Leon”. Then I remember that Sherry’s adopted. I never got the full story. There are so many unknowns going on in their life. And here I am thinking I’m getting super close to Claire, finding out all her secrets. Maybe it’s not so bad that this whole Billie Easter persona is a lie. 

Claire dramatically rolls her eyes. “No. He, uh, gets confused sometimes.” 

“But you didn’t even finish college,” Sherry points out. 

“It was freshman year,” I blurt, trying to help the situation as best as I can. I probably sound just as frazzled as Claire does. 

“And?” 

Silence. We sound so dumb. We’re straight out of a Disney Channel show right now. 

“We had English Lit together, and she, uh, helped me write my papers, because I’m a super bad writer,” Claire chimes in. I nod along. 

The food comes to the table. Sherry nosedives for her sandwich immediately, stuffing a huge bite into her mouth. I guess she’s already lost interest in the conversation. 

We sit in silence. Suddenly I’m grateful that my outings with Claire and Leon were never this awkward, because this really sucks. I literally have no idea what to say. I didn’t plan this far ahead whatsoever. In fact, I’m still kind of in shock that I found Chris’s sister in the first place. Now I’m getting lunch with Claire’s daughter? 

Halfway through her sandwich, Sherry wipes her mouth and gestures toward Claire. “So, how’s Chris? Did he ever find that girl he was looking for-” 

I almost wonder if I’m making things up in my head. Did she really say that? Did she really conveniently bring up Chris after barely buying our lies? Then I wonder if Sherry can somehow read my mind. Then I panic. I lurch against the table, harder than Claire had done earlier. 

_Girl he’s looking for?_

Claire widens her eyes and slams her hands on the table, cutting off both Sherry and my thoughts. I’ve got to learn by now not to hold on to false hope. 

“Sherry, we’re not going to bring him up right now. It’s not appropriate.” 

“Why?” She takes another bite of her sandwich, talking with her mouth full. “I heard you on the phone with him the other day. You didn’t let me say hi.” 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Chris and I were both in a hurry.” 

“If he was in a hurry, why did he call in the first place?” 

Claire closes her eyes and exhales. “We can talk about it later. Right now, let’s enjoy our lunch.” 

Sherry looks to me, then back to Claire. “You guys have been friends since college, and she doesn’t know about your _brother_?” 

I might’ve screamed if we weren’t in public. Yes! I know everything about your brother, except where he is right now! The only reason I’m even able to keep my cool is because I don’t want to embarrass myself. 

Or maybe I’m just getting used to all of these false leads by now. 

Claire sighs and sets her fork down. “There are things that he doesn’t want us sharing with others. You know this. You need to respect his wishes.” 

Sherry rolls her eyes and takes another bite of her sandwich. “Fine. I’ll just call him later myself.” 

I suddenly feel myself becoming lightheaded. It’s as if the situation’s finally hitting me like a ton of bricks. Maybe it’s just today’s situation, or maybe the situation at large. Either way, I sort of slump forward in my seat and nearly face-dive into my french fries. 

Claire rubs my arm. “Are you okay, Billie?” 

I rub my face, letting reality focus back in. “Yeah. I’m fine. I just, uh, need to leave soon is all.” 

Claire shoves her basket aside. “That’s fine. I’m about done eating. What about you, Sherry?” 

Sherry takes her last (huge) bite of her sandwich and squints her face. “Um. I guess.” 

— — 

Carlos is heading out the door, his bag over his shoulder, as soon as I slide back into my apartment. It sucks, because the first thing I wanted to do the minute I got in my car was to run home to Carlos and start crying. 

“Where are you going?” I stutter. 

Carlos drops his bag. “I told you I could only stay for a few days. I have to get back to training.” 

The tears come pouring out before I even realize it. “Please don’t go. Not right this second.” 

Carlos pulls me into a hug. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong, supercop? I thought we had you feeling better?” 

I hold onto him tight, like a little girl holding onto her parents. Like if I somehow hold onto him hard enough, he won’t have to leave. Which is incredibly dumb, but I can’t help it. 

“I’m in way over my head,” I finally admit, more to myself than to him. “I jumped into this impulsively, and now it’s going to bite me in the ass.” 

“Did something happen?” 

I sigh, still holding onto him. “We went to lunch with Claire’s daughter, and it was awkward.” 

“So? Isn’t she, like, thirteen? Of course it was probably awkward.” 

“Fifteen.”

“Same difference.” 

I wipe at my eyes. “She brought up Chris. She was mad she didn’t get to talk to him on the phone. I guess they’re all close-knit, and my answer is _right there,_ but I can’t seem to get it, and it makes me feel like a failure. Especially since I’ve been trying for so damn long.” 

Carlos grabs my shoulders and lifts me off of him, making eye contact with me. “I know. I know this is tough. But so are you. The Jill Valentine I know isn’t afraid of a challenge. You’re just having a little setback. No need to cry and get worked up.” 

I release myself from his grip. “Maybe I’m not even Jill Valentine anymore. Maybe this Billie Easter alter ego is taking over my mind, and I’m some useless fuck who has nothing better to do than jump into bed with some random couple.” 

He snorts for a moment, then straightens his face. “Don’t be ridiculous. You survived _monsters._ You can survive this. I have faith in you.” 

“Fighting monsters didn’t involve having social skills.” 

He chuckles for real this time. “You and I worked together pretty well. That required quite a few social skills. In fact, if I remember correctly, _you’re_ the one who took the power right out of my hands and took control of the whole situation.” He pats my shoulder. “Look, I’m out in two weeks. Try and stall things as much as you can with Claire and Leon, and then I can help you for real. But right now, I seriously have to go, or I’ll be late and get my balls chopped off.” 

“I thought you had ‘a few more weeks’?”

He shrugs. “BSAA told me they’re ending my training early. They’ve got an assignment they want me to cover, and it’s urgent, I guess.” 

I wipe some more at my face. “They’re probably going to ask _you_ to find Chris because I’m so damn useless.” 

He picks his bag back up and pulls me into one last hug. “If they do, I’ll tell him I’m scheduling a threesome with him.” 

I shove him, and we both smile. 

“I’ll call you tonight, okay? Hang tough, supercop.” 

And with that, unfortunately, he’s out the door. 

The first place I go is my couch. I lie down on my left side, hugging the pillow that we used as “Claire” last night. I close my eyes and almost calm myself down when, believe it or not, Jarod’s voice blares through my speakers in my room. 

“Valentine!” 

I don’t remember leaving my speakers on, but anything goes at this point. I’m a mess. For all I know, the sticker’s off the camera, and he’s been staring at my bed (and all of the underwear laying on top of it). 

“I know you’re home! Get in here! It’s urgent.” 

It’s hard for me to take Jarod seriously when he says something is “urgent” nowadays, but I wander into my room anyways. If not for nothing, I can get our little meeting over with, mute my speakers, and take a nap. I pull myself off the couch, check to make sure my tube top hasn’t fallen down, and sit myself down in front of my computer, as if it’s not the last thing I want to be doing right now. 

Thankfully, the sticker’s still on. I peel it off and watch Jarod scowl at me as I do it. “The hell have you been doing all this time, Valentine?” 

“Undercover operations.” I’m not technically lying. 

“I’m not too pleased with your lack of transparency. I feel like I’m constantly walking in circles trying to get an answer out of you, and _failing._ I don’t want to have to tell the higher-ups about your less-than-satisfactory job performance.” 

I almost start crying, and then remember that death would be better than crying in front of Jarod. “I’m almost there. I’ll tell you everything when it’s safe to do so.” 

“When it’s safe? What could be so dangerous about _whatever it is you’re doing_ that you can’t inform, you know, your supervisor? Technically speaking, you should’ve gotten permission before going on any sort of secret undercover mission.” 

“You told me to do what it takes to find him, and I am!” I’m screaming so loud that my neighbors can probably hear me. “It’s not like you’ve been any help, here!” 

He leans back in his chair and taps his hands together. I haven’t seen him do that in a while. He reminds me of some mob boss plotting his next move. “This isn’t why I called you, Jill. Believe it or not.” 

I wipe at my face to keep tears from falling. “Okay. Why did you call?” 

“You’re moving.” 

“Huh?” I spit. “What do you mean ‘moving’?” 

“Like, you’re going to pack your things, and you’re going to live somewhere else.” 

“Excuse me?”

He lets me sit there in confusion for a solid thirty seconds before evil-laughing, still tapping his hands together, as if he thinks he’s transformed into Tony Soprano. “Relax, Valentine. You’re staying in your same apartment complex. We’re just moving you to a two bedroom.” 

I smirk. “Are you guys going to let me have an actual office? So that I can sleep in peace?” 

He shakes his head. “Nope. Carlos Oliveira is moving in with you.” 

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“BSAA needs to end his training early. They’ve got a covert operation that they need his help on. And your balmy little Chicago suburb is the perfect place for him to go undercover and hide out.” 

“And we have to live together because?” 

“Accountability. You keep him accountable, he attempts to keep you accountable, assuming you’re getting any actual work done.” 

I love Carlos to death. In fact, I wish he was here right now. But my mind is all over the place, and this is just one more thing I don’t have time to process. So I just sort of blink rapidly. What am I supposed to say?

“Come on, Valentine. Don’t act like you’re not sitting there creaming your panties at the thought of getting to live with your man-meat sidekick. You guys work well together.” 

I rub my forehead. “Jarod, honestly, you’re disgusting. Have you ever actually had sex with someone that wasn’t your right hand?” 

“If that was a proposition, I’m declining it.” 

“ _Trust me._ It wasn’t.” 

He claps his hands together, straightening his body up. “Great, well, start packing your stuff up.”

“Do I not get a say in the matter?” I attempt to ask matter-of-factly, although it comes out more of a dull squeak. 

“Not if you want a paycheck.” 

He shuts the call off before I have a chance to respond. I throw the sticker back on the webcam and turn the speakers off before collapsing onto my bed. I close my eyes for about half a second before the phone rings. Goddamn it. I contemplate throwing my phone out the window, but then remember that Carlos promised to call, and eventually hop up to answer. 

“Hello?” I answer in an embarrassingly hopeful tone.

“Billie.” It’s not Carlos. It’s Leon. 

My knees jerk. “Oh. Hi.” I wish I could hang up the phone. I don’t need this right now. 

“I heard you got lunch with Claire and Sherry today. I think it was real sweet of you to invite our daughter along.” 

I mean, I didn’t exactly have a choice, did I? 

“Um, thank you?” I reply. 

“Listen, we’re long overdue for a one-on-one. Claire’s really feeling something for you, and I want to get to know you as well as she has.” He’s got a strange tone. Almost suspicious. 

I instinctively want to reply that I’m feeling something for Claire, too, but then stop myself. _What?_

“Yeah. We, uh, haven’t, uh, hung out together, have we?” I stutter. 

“What’s your weekend look like?” he asks. “I think I can get Saturday off.” 

_Oh god oh god oh god oh god._

“Um, yeah, Saturday works.” 

Silence. 

“Any particular time on Saturday?” Leon asks. 

“Uh, my, uh, whole Saturday is free.” 

He laughs. I can’t tell if it’s sarcastic or not. “You seem to have quite a bit of free time.” 

“Oh, you know, I’m just, uh, flexible.” 

More awkward silence. 

“Let’s do dinner. Claire’s meeting up with an old friend that night. A _real_ one.” He sarcastic-laughs again. “Seven?” 

I nod, then remember he can’t see me. “Uh, yeah, seven. I’ll meet you at your place.” 

“I’m happy to come pick you up, if you want. You can email Claire your address and she’ll pass it along.” 

I don’t know what to say, but I’m tired of the awkward silence, so I start coughing for no reason. 

“You okay?” 

I clear my throat. “Yeah, sorry. Got something in my throat. Um, I really don’t mind driving over there.” 

“No. I insist. Save yourself some gas money.” 

“Okay,” I squeak. 

“Great. See you then.” He hangs up before I can say anything else. 

I flop back onto my bed, grab a pillow, and scream into it. It’s not enough to let off steam, so I grab Wild GRL. Then I freeze up, because I don’t know what to write, or where to even begin. So I just sort of scribble down the first thing that comes to my mind. 

_This is about to be a motherfucking disaster._


	6. If We Were a Movie, You'd Be the Right Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! Sorry for the wait! I'm switching between two jobs right now and getting that situated has been a bit of a pain in the ass. Go figure! Not all of us get to rest during quarantine, sadly. My posting schedule should become more regular after this week. 
> 
> Once again, thank you for all of the support! I've already got an idea of where this is going, and I can't wait to hear your theories and what you'd like to see more of! Enjoy!
> 
> PS: You can guess what song was stuck in my head when I wrote this.

_I can’t decide who’s more suspicious of me at this point. Sherry? Leon? Maybe Leon’s suspicious because of Sherry, or maybe Sherry feels suspicious because of Leon. Maybe it’s the employees at Cafe Origin. They know something’s up. Maybe they even left a little note in Sherry’s sandwich. Something like “your mom is trying to have a threesome with a super spy.”_

_Okay, “super spy” is a stretch, but you get my point. You have to, you’re a non-sentient piece of paper. I’m losing my goddamn mind. This date with Leon may just prove disastrous._

_If this is the last journal entry I write before I die of embarrassment, please, whoever finds this, tell Chris to go fuck himself for staying in hiding for so long._

I don’t know who keeps spewing the bullshit lie that writing in your journal makes you feel better, because it’s not doing anything to calm my nerves. 

My phone rings, as it always does. What if I threw it out for real? What if I got rid of my computer and my phone and locked my door and buried myself under a blanket for the rest of eternity? Then I spot my haphazardly half-packed nightstand and remember that I’d only have about two weeks to hide under my blanket until I get kicked out of the apartment. But maybe I can learn to squeeze an eternity into two weeks. 

The phone stops ringing, then starts again about thirty seconds later. I realize how stupid I’m being. I haven’t had weird thoughts like this since someone in boot camp gave me a, ahem, special brownie. 

“Hello?” I forget to turn on my cheery voice, in case it’s Claire or Leon. Thankfully, it’s not. 

“Jill,” Carlos’s voice huffs through the speaker. “What took you so long to answer?”

Ah. Carlos, calling two days later than he said he would. I’d been so wound up about my date with Leon that I haven’t had a chance to process the fact that we’re going to be living together. 

“What took you so long to call? What happened to calling the night you got there?”

“I’m sorry, Jill.” His voice sounds strangely soft and sympathetic. “I couldn’t get to a phone. They’re dropping a lot of bombs on me, here.”

I snort. “So you’ve heard the news, roomie?”

He chuckles. One of those frustrated-chuckles. “I didn’t think they’d go through with it. I thought it was just some stupid, empty threat.”

“Wait,” I screech. “You knew about this already?”

Now he’s sighing. “Why do you think I came to visit in the first place? You didn’t even give me a chance to tell you, with your little sexscapade you’ve got going on.” 

I rub my forehead. “I don’t know. I thought you were being a good friend, coming to say hi after eight months because we missed each other. Stupid me.”

“I’m calling you _now_ because I’m a good friend.” His voice softens. “Are you okay, Jill?” 

I find myself hitting my head against the wall. “Well now I’m mad that you knew and didn’t say anything.” 

“No you’re not,” he states matter-of-factly. “You’re looking for a distraction. You know, you didn’t ask once how things were for me.” 

“I did so! And you ignored it!” 

“That doesn’t count.” 

I can’t believe him sometimes. “Okay. Carlos, how are you doing right now?” 

“ _Well_ ,” he over-emphasizes. “Shit’s a little crazy. I just found out I have to move to Chicago permanently. Again. I thought I got the hell out of there after the T-virus.” 

“You never lived in Chicago. Raccoon City is, like, two hours away. Er, was.” 

“Still. Close enough.” 

We’re both laughing. I’m not sure why. I think we both realize how ridiculous this whole situation is, on top of my already-really-ridiculous threesome thing. 

“I guess it won’t be that bad,” I finally mutter. 

“I was shocked at first, but, supercop, I’m kind of excited. Especially if Dmitri stays in the living room for public viewings.” 

“Gross! You’re worse than Jarod.” I scoff. 

“We’re going to have to come up with a masturbation schedule if both of our rooms are bugged. You’ll have to take mornings. I’m a right-before-bed kind of dude.” 

“Carlos. For fuck’s sake.” 

“I’m kidding!” We both know he’s not. “Look, we’ve got a couple weeks before we move in. We’ll work it out later. You didn’t answer my question. Are you doing okay?” 

There’s a sore developing on the back of my head from banging it against the wall. Is it possible for someone to give themselves a concussion? “Leon and I have a date tomorrow. Alone.” 

“No.” 

I switch to hitting my foot against the wall instead. Sorry, neighbors. “He’s quiet. He’s going to get suspicious. Claire can at least buffer the awkwardness with small talk. I’m scared there will be a ton of silence and he’ll start asking questions and I’ll give myself away.” 

“What makes you think he’ll get suspicious?” 

“He saw my R.P.D. badge holder! Come on, Carlos. Keep up with the details.” 

“I thought you came up with some lie about how it belonged to your brother, or something.”

“He didn’t exactly buy it!” 

He exhales sharply. “Turn the situation on its head. Drill _him_ with questions before he can drill you. Maybe if you get an answer on the whole R.P.D. thing, you’ll feel better. Then you’ll be building trust with him in the process.” 

“What if he doesn’t tell me?” 

“Then he’ll at least back off, probably. He won’t want to pressure you into giving away all of your secrets if he knows you can do the same thing to him.” 

I bite my lip. I hate when Carlos is right. “Okay. That’s fair.” 

“If all else fails, just be yourself.”

“What?!”

“Not, like, ‘Jill Valentine from BSAA’. Don’t go that far. But just…in the way you carry yourself. Be your sarcastic, defensive, funny, take-no-shit self. The old Jill that I know and love. I missed her when I was there.” 

“I’m sarcastic and defensive?” I joke. 

“Go get ‘em tiger. I have to go. I’ll call you as soon as I can.” He hangs up before I have a chance to say anything. It’s probably for the best. 

— —

The next morning, my Billie email dings, just as I’m getting some actual packing done. 

_Billie,_

_So excited that you and Leon are having a one-on-one tonight. I can’t wait to hear all about it. Can you send me your address? Leon’s going to pick you up around seven. I’ve got an old friend coming over tonight, and I haven’t exactly told her about our situation here, so feel free to spend time with Leon at your place after dinner. Wink wink, nudge nudge!_

  * _Claire_



I could’ve done without the “wink wink, nudge nudge” part. Is she insinuating we have sex? We haven’t had _the talk_ yet. I thought. 

I think back to Claire and I on the couch, before stupid Sherry walked in. How I felt myself losing control, how our kissing grew aggressive, how I happily pulled myself on top, deepening things, letting myself feel things I haven’t felt in a long time. 

And then I think about insanely attractive Leon is, and I can’t help but wonder what would happen if we found ourselves in the same position. 

Ugh. What the hell are you talking about, Jill? Get a goddamn grip.

I send my address to Claire, along with some generic little note about how I’m excited to spend some time with Leon. I don’t address the “your place after dinner” part. 

It takes two hours of packing up my closet to realize I’ve got absolutely nothing to wear. My tube top’s just about worn out, and it would be really lame to re-wear the black dress. How nice of a place were we going to? I guess I need to get something at least semi-decent. 

I go to put on my Walmart uniform when I notice a nice little pool of red sitting in my underwear. “Shit!” I scream aloud without meaning to. 

Nope. This can’t be happening. It came early? I suddenly realize how stupid it was to lie about my period before, because now if things get hot and heavy, I’ve got no excuse to fall back on. I wonder, for a moment, if I can still get away with it. Maybe Leon doesn’t know how periods work. Then again, he lives with two girls, so I doubt it. 

I, uh, clean myself up, muttering an infinite amount of “shit”s along the way. Regardless of what happens, I’m going to have to reject him before things go too far. At least I wouldn’t have to do any grooming. Saves me an hour (or two). 

I almost contemplate not putting a bra on. My boobs get so sore during my _time of the month_. Then I remember that perv of an old man in the magazine section. 

I’m going to Target instead. 

Admittedly, their clothes are marginally cuter. At least, there’s no ugly nightgowns or “surfer girl” t-shirts. It only takes me about fifteen minutes to stumble upon a navy-colored dress with pink flowers. I’ve never owned anything so girly in my entire life, but it looks semi-decent on me, so I go for it. 

“You have to get a necklace to go with this,” the cashier tells me matter-of-factly as I go to check out. 

“Excuse me?” I ask. 

She rolls her eyes. She’s maybe eighteen or nineteen. “You can’t just wear this dress by itself. You have to wear a necklace. You have to complete the look.” 

“I think I’m okay.” I’m feeling impatient. I want to go home and brood over how nervous I am for this date. “I just want the dress.” 

She eyes my outfit up and down, then puts her hands on her hips. “You wouldn’t know, would you?” 

“Can I please just get the dress and leave?” I ask. 

She steps away from the register. “I’m not letting you leave unless you get the necklace. I’ll go grab it real quick. It’s this real cute peach-colored statement piece. You’re going to like it.” 

She doesn’t give me a chance to say no before she wanders across the walkway to the jewelry section. When did underpaid Target employees become so aggressive?

She rings it up. It is a pretty necklace. I don’t even know where I’m going to put it. I can’t even remember the last time I _owned_ any jewelry. Did my STARS badge count? 

She sneers as she hands me my bag. “See? You could stand to learn a few things.” 

I snatch the bag out of her hand. “You could stand to mind your own business. That pushy-shovy thing is not cute.” 

There’s the old Jill. Kind of.

I get home and lay the outfit down on my bed, right next to Wild GRL and my blood-stained underwear that I’m too lazy to throw in the dirty clothes bin. I think I stare at it for a solid ten minutes. I don’t wear dresses, unless you count that stupid worn skirt. I definitely don’t wear jewelry. Who am I anymore? What on Earth have I gotten myself into? 

My phone rings. What else is new?

“Hello?” I remember my cheery voice this time, because I’m almost certain it’s not Carlos. 

“Hey, Billie.” It’s Leon. 

My stomach lurches. “Oh, hi Leon!” 

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be swinging by your place in a couple of hours.” 

I look at the clock. It’s already 4:30. Shit. 

“Oh,” I squawk awkwardly. “Sounds good.” 

“Claire picked out the perfect spot for us. I think you’re going to really like it.” 

“Please don’t say Cafe Origin,” I attempt to joke. 

It takes him a second, but he laughs, thank god. “No, no. It’s up north a bit. Probably about twenty or thirty minutes from your place. It’s called Palomino.”

“Like the horse?” 

He snorts. “Yeah. I think it’s upscale take on the whole soup-salad-sandwich thing.” 

“So it’s a fancy version of Cafe Origin?” 

“Would you prefer someplace else?” 

God, I’m so awkward. “No, it sounds good! Um, I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

“Great! Can’t wait.” 

I hang up the phone, and then it occurs to me that I probably should’ve said “goodbye”. And that maybe I shouldn’t have made fun of his restaurant choice. Or that I should’ve offered to find a spot for us in the first place. My mind won’t stop racing. How am I supposed to get through this damn dinner date? 

— —

_Holy-Lord-have-mercy,_ Leon cleans up well. 

I mean, to be fair, he never looks bad. I haven’t seen him in a casual setting; if he’s even a jeans-and-a-tee kind of guy in the first place. But _damn._ His button-down top sits tucked neatly in his slacks, and his navy-colored blazer perfectly contrasts his dirty-blond hair. 

I don’t feel pretty enough, all of the sudden. Even with my dress and my _statement necklace._ I barely had time to blow-dry my hair, and the only makeup I’ve got on is a smear of Vaseline on my lips. 

“Guess we’re matching,” he jokes. 

My cheeks burn as I realize my dress and his blazer are a similar color. “What a coincidence.” 

I realize we’ve both been standing in the threshold of my front door. I step out and hastily shut the door behind me. I’m shaking. God, I need to get it together. 

He grabs my hand and kisses it, like in all of the cheesy movies. “You look absolutely beautiful, Billie.” 

It seems like a stretch, but I’ll take it. “Thank you. You look beautiful, too. Um, er, handsome.” 

He smiles. Are his cheeks turning red? 

“Thank you.” 

An awkward silence ensues. It’s exactly what I was afraid of. “Are you ready to head out?” I ask. 

He claps his hands together. “Yeah! Yeah. Let’s do it.” 

I remember Carlos’s advice to try and dominate the conversation. I’m not great at it, but I’ll give it a try. “So, have you been to Palomino before?” 

He shakes his head. “Claire’s been a couple of times. She really likes it. But we’re both walking in blind.” 

“Oh. Interesting. Do you, uh, like trying new restaurants?” 

I’m going to start to sound really idiotic if I ask too many questions. 

He shrugs. “Sometimes. I’m not a hobbyist or anything.”

My momentum’s already gone. We walk the rest of the way to the car in silence. To my surprise, he hesitates in starting the engine after we hop into the car. 

“Everything okay?” I ask, trying my best to act cool. 

He averts eye contact and sighs. “Hey, Billie.”

Jesus. I’m going to puke. “Uh, yeah?” 

He looks back to me and smiles briefly. “I’m really nervous. In case it wasn’t obvious.” 

_He’s_ nervous? Why is he nervous? 

“You are?” I ask. 

He clicks his tongue, nodding slowly. “Yeah. I just, uh, thought I should come clean.” 

“Oh.” I nod slowly, too. “I’m nervous, too.” 

“Really? That’s surprising to me.” 

I’m not sure how to interpret that. “What do you mean?” 

He taps his hands against the steering wheel. I’m feeling hot and flustered. I wish he’d start the damn engine. “You’re always so calm and collected. I admire your confidence.” 

Confidence? He’s got to be kidding. 

I wipe some sweat off of my forehead, and he finally takes it as his cue to start the engine. Hot air blows over both of us. “That’s, um, well, thank you,” I whisper. “But I think you’re mistaken. I’m always nervous around you guys. You’re the ones that have it all together. I’m a mess.” I’m telling the truth. Wouldn’t Carlos be proud? 

“If you’re a mess, we’re a full-blown disaster.” 

We both look at each other, then burst into laughter. I can feel some of the tension dissipating. Maybe he’s not suspicious, after all. Maybe he’s just nervous. 

Maybe. 

He glances back and pulls out of his parking spot. I take the opportunity to keep asking questions. Or at least, I try.

“So, um…” I should’ve made a list ahead of time. “What, um, why did you, uh…” I truly don’t know what to say. The nerves are getting to me. The way his hair perfectly frames his chiseled face is getting to me. The fact that, in any other circumstance, this could’ve been a normal first date. But it’s not. 

“Why did we go into this lifestyle?” He cuts me off. 

It wasn’t what was necessarily on my mind, but I go with it. “Um, yeah.” 

The roads are surprisingly quiet. We’re headed out to a more isolated part of town, apparently. It’d be the perfect murder. But I’m oddly calm. Maybe it’s because a soft song is playing in the background. 

He taps his hands on the steering wheel. “Promise you’re not judging?” 

I’m trying not to wrinkle my face up. “Um, promise?”

We stop at a red light. He looks to me. His face has a different look to it. Less stoic. I try to soften up my face, too. I don’t even want to know what it looks like. I’m so flustered and my thoughts are all over the damn place. 

“Well, it was Claire’s idea, at first.” He clicks his tongue. “We weren’t having a rough patch, necessarily, but it felt like we needed something.” 

The light turns green, and his eyes avert back to the road. 

Damn. His eyes are beautiful. 

“Oh?” I ask. I sound so dumb. 

“We, uh, had a very untraditional start to our relationship. And we were at this point where it felt like, we love each other more than anything, and we have a strong bond, but we want more. Like, we don’t want to break up with each other at all, but we want something more. We would go back and forth about it all the time. We’d cry. We tried so hard to figure out how to reconcile the two.”

“The two,” I mutter awkwardly. 

“You know.” He gestures with his hand. “Wanting to stay together and wanting to explore ourselves.” 

“Right.” I remember I’m supposed to sound like I know what I’m talking about. “That’s typical for people in, uh, this situation.” 

We stop at another red light. He doesn’t look over at me, though I’m subconsciously finding myself wishing he would. He puts on his turn signal. We must be getting close. 

There’s another silence, and I know that if I don’t chime in, he’ll start asking about me. “Yeah, uh, Claire told me a little about that. How you guys are wanting to ‘share your love’ and whatnot.”

We’re going down a really dark, windy road. Seriously, the perfect murder scenario. But I feel really, really comfortable. Is it the whole gut feeling thing?

“So when she brought up _polyamory_ , I did some research and-”

We drive over a speed bump right as he turns into a semi-crowded parking lot. It interrupts us. Which is good, because I have absolutely no idea what “polyamory” is, and I don’t want him to see it on my face. 

“Sorry about that. Didn’t see it.” He pulls into a parking space. “But, as I was saying, I researched it, and it just sounded like the perfect situation for us.” He turns the car off and briefly pats my arm before unbuckling and opening his door. My heart’s beating so fast that it takes me a moment to follow suit. 

“And we discussed it and agreed that we wanted a closed polyamorous relationship. As in, we’re all in a relationship with each other, as opposed to having outside relationships. It feels more connected that way, you know?” he continues as we walk toward the front door of the restaurant. It’s a semi-decent place, for sure. You know, a place with a fountain in front and large wooden doors and, to nobody’s surprise, a statue of a horse. 

I nod. “Um, yeah, for sure.” This is the most I’ve ever heard him talk. 

The host takes our name, and we’re scuttled off to a well-decorated table in the back corner. It’s one of those roundabout booths where people can slowly scoot closer and closer to each other. I guess they knew our intentions. 

The restaurant’s dimly lit, as are most fancy places. I can barely see the decorations. I think it’s mainly so we can’t see the prices on the menu. Thirty bucks for a _Chef’s Special Macaroni and Cheese_? What can you possibly do to macaroni and cheese to make it taste like thirty bucks?

Leon must see the look on my face, because he gently pats my arm again. “Our treat. Don’t even worry about the price tag.” I don’t know how a cop and a stay-at-home mom have money for this kind of thing, but I also won’t argue it. Though, in all fairness, it would be a lot harder to see the “Jill Valentine” printed on my card in this stupid darkness. 

Maybe I should get some cash, for once. 

We mull over the menu for way too long. Leon’s one of those people who can’t decide what he wants right away. I decided ahead of time on an overpriced club sandwich and caesar salad, but I pretend to keep looking over the menu so I don’t feel awkward. 

The waiter comes; this kind of greasy looking dude who’d probably be more attractive if he washed his hair. Or his face. “Can I get you guys something to drink?” He shoves the drink menu we’d ignored closer to us. “Did you get a chance to see our wine list? We have a fantastic _cabernet sauvignon_ and a light-bodied _pinot noir._ ”

I’m a bargain-bin-beer girl, so I just nod along, as if I have any idea what he’s saying. 

“Do you have whites?” Leon asks. How sophisticated of him. 

The waiter taps his finger against the drink menu. “This _chardonnay_ is my personal favorite.” 

Leon shoves the menu toward the waiter. “Great. I’ll take a glass. What about you, Billie?” 

“Um, sure?” I squawk. 

The waiter shoves the drink menu under his armpit. “Can I see your IDs?”

Ah, fuck. 

Leon’s quick to pull his out, and the waiter accepts it with only a slight glance. I’m really careful with mine, scooting as close to the waiter as possible and cupping the picture, lest Leon see the “Jill Valentine” scribbled on there. 

The waiter eyes my ID up and down, taking his sweet ass time. He snorts, then hands it back to me. I shove it into my purse as fast as humanly possible. I hope Leon didn’t notice. 

“Twenty-eight is nothing to be ashamed of,” the waiter sneers at me. “You’re still bangin’.” 

Ugh. Men are such trash sometimes. 

Leon laughs at the whole encounter. It stings, a bit. “Why were you so secretive about your ID? I think if we’re going to sleep together, we could at least know your _age_. Twenty-eight is nothing. I’m twenty-seven and Claire’s twenty-four.” 

_Twenty-four_?

Curiosity gets the best of me. “Okay, I’m so sorry if this is rude, but how…your daughter is fifteen. I know she’s adopted, but…how did that happen?” 

The waiter is quick to bring the wine out and take our dinner orders. Leon takes a long sip, probably to avoid answering my question. I take a sip, too. It’s disgusting. Like someone left grape juice on the counter too long. I twist my face without meaning to. 

Leon swirls the wine around in his glass. “You’d think a nice place like this would know to chill their whites.” He takes another sip. “But it’s paid for. Might as well get the most out of it.” 

Can’t argue with that. I force another sip down, then tap my hand against the table. “So, you didn’t answer my question.” 

Half of Leon’s glass is already empty. His voice has softened considerably. “So, uh, Claire and I both grew up in really untraditional settings, so to speak. Um…” He’s struggling to find a way to hide things. I can tell. 

“It’s okay, you can tell me,” I mutter softly. I actually mean it. I find myself reaching out and touching his arm, scooting just a little bit closer to him. 

I don’t understand what I’m feeling right now. Honestly. I’m so confused. But I’m…actually enjoying it. With Claire, it’s fun and happiness and good feelings. But with Leon, it’s like…I almost feel like I can be vulnerable. Like we can be serious. 

I’m losing my grip on the situation. Holy shit. 

He slides his arm closer to mine. “Well, Claire’s parents passed away when she was twelve. Which was actually how old Sherry was when we adopted her. So her older brother, Chris, I think she’s mentioned him a couple of times, he had just turned eighteen and got custody of her. So it was this sort of crazy time for the both of them, having to figure out how to be a functioning family. So when Sherry came into our lives, it wasn’t necessarily all that weird for us. For her, especially.” He pushes some of his hair back behind his ears and takes a sip of wine. “It’s not, like, a secret or anything. She’s been wanting to tell you but she’s afraid of scaring you off.” 

“That doesn’t scare me off,” I reply. “My parents passed away, too, actually. I was eighteen, also.” 

Oh god. I can’t believe I’m telling him this. It was the one thing Chris and I had in common. Something we’d bonded over. 

Is it going to give me away?

“I’m so sorry,” Leon mutters. He shifts himself. It takes me a second to realize he’s shifting himself closer to me. “ _My_ mom passed away, too, but not until I was twenty. Not that it makes that much of a difference.” He sighs. I wonder if he’s holding back tears. “Um, she was a single parent, though. My dad bailed on us right after my little sister was born. I was not even two yet. I don’t know the guy and probably never will.” 

I shamelessly pull him into a bit of a side-hug, resting my head on his shoulder. The waiter brings out our food, scoffs at our position, and wanders away. We both leave our food untouched for a moment. 

“I’m so sorry, also,” I whisper. “That must’ve been so challenging growing up.” 

He leans his head on top of mine. “It made losing my mom that much harder. But in some ways, I’m thankful. I feel like it’s made me more appreciative of things. Empathetic, even.” He runs his hand through my hair. “But god. You lost your parents _and_ your brother?” 

My body stiffens up. I’d been so caught up in the moment that I forgot all about the “officer Easter” thing. Reality comes crashing down. Leon’s here, being vulnerable, opening himself up, and I’ve been selling a lie. 

And these stupid, annoying, all-of-the-sudden feelings are telling me I can’t do that anymore. 

“Um,” I sputter. “I, uh, forgot to clarify. He, uh, wasn’t my biological brother. He was my cousin. We were just, uh, close, so it felt like he was my brother.” 

Great. I’m undoing a lie with another lie. 

Leon exhales. I can’t tell if he’s buying it or not. “I guess that’s still just as painful, huh?” He slides both of the plates of food closer to us. “Hey. This is kind of dark and depressing. Let’s change the subject.” 

I straighten up. “Yeah, yeah. Agreed.” 

I try not to let the guilt consume me as we dig in to our dinner. I remember that I’m on a mission, and that I’m not lying to him to be malicious, and that maybe even once I get my answer, I can tell them the truth, and maybe see what happens from there. 

Right?

Leon talks a little about why he joined the police force. I share some stories from college, because it’s all I’ve got at this point, considering I have to omit literally everything that’s come after boot camp. He shares an embarrassing story about how he got walked in on by his mom when he lost his virginity, and I actually share the story of how I burped mid-make out session with Chris. Obviously, I leave out a few details. Including the fact that we never made it to the “make out” part _because_ I burped.

We’re cry-laughing as we finish up our dinner and pay. He holds his hand out and helps me out of the booth. I think about how I could stare into his eyes forever and ever. How strong was that one glass of wine?

Our hands brush up against each other as we walk to the car. I’m not brave enough to grab his, and I guess he’s not brave enough to grab mine, so we just keep walking really close to each other, our hands bumping and bumping and bumping but not quite grabbing. 

He hesitates before starting the engine as we get into the car again. Thankfully, the air’s cooled down a bit this time around. He reaches out and rubs my arm. Why’s he brave enough to do that, but not hold my hand?

“Can we, uh, can we go back to your place for a bit?” he whispers. 

Oh shit. I forgot about that part. Going back to my place is a bad idea. It’s dirty as hell. My half-packed stuff is everywhere, including plenty of things that probably have “Jill Valentine” written all over them. My room is fucking _bugged_ , for Christ’s sake. 

But I lose myself in his eyes. “Um, yeah.” 

We ride back to my place in a semi-comfortable silence. He finally musters up the courage to hold my hand. I’m trying to shove the doubtful thoughts out of my brain. How badly could it really go? If I just leave the lights off and stay in the living room, it’ll be fine, right? 

About five minutes out, I shift, feeling an uncomfortable squelch underneath me. I take my vacant hand and rub the inside of my thigh, pulling it back out and finding a nice coat of blood on it. 

God, I’m a fucking idiot. I’d been so nervous about this date that I forgot to change into a fresh goddamn pad. 

He manages to spot the blood on my hand and briefly pulls away. “Whoa! Are you okay? What happened?”

I’m so thankful we’re on a dark road right now, because my face must be purple. Or white. I can’t even tell, it’s burning so badly. I jump to the first excuse I can think of. “I, uh, you know what? I scraped my leg against one of the legs of the table before we, uh, left, and, uh, I guess I scraped it harder than I thought I did.” 

That’s got to be the stupidest excuse ever conjured in existence. But somehow, he buys it. “Oh, ouch! I’ve got some napkins in the glove compartment. That might help until we get back to your place.” 

I eagerly grab some of the napkins. When he’s not looking, I slyly shove some inside of my underwear. It’s a gross sensation, but it’ll buy me some time. I hope. 

He practically sprints back to my apartment after we park. I wish so desperately that I could tell him to go home, because now I’m freaking out. But I can’t. It would be way too suspicious. Why would I send someone home just because I cut my leg? I’ve made it this far. I can’t turn back now. 

Especially after some of the moments we shared together. 

He must spot some of the blood on my dress as I go to unlock my front door, because he rubs my lower back and tells me how painful it looks. Curse the stupid fluorescent lights the apartment complex has. 

I swing the door open. It’s only then that I realize I’ve got way more sitting in my living room than I’d thought. In fact, I don’t even remember what’s in the boxes, and what’s sitting out. I’d been so panicked that I just sort of blindly threw things around. 

Leon goes to turn the lights on. I quickly swat his hand away. Even in the dark, I can still see him shooting me a confused look. 

“Don’t you need to clean up?” he asks. 

There’s absolutely no way I’m leaving him alone to go get cleaned up in the bathroom. The napkins are just going to have to suffice. “It, uh, stopped bleeding. I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” 

In a boost of confidence I’ve never had before, I pull him into a kiss. He happily reconciles, rubbing his hands against my lower back and pulling me closer. 

“Really, I’m fine.” I whisper. 

He smirks. “Should we, uh, go into your room?” 

“No!” I screech without realizing. My room would _really_ be a game over. But I can’t tell him it’s bugged. 

His face looks both confused and hurt at the same time. God, I’m really screwing up. God, his eyes are so beautiful. “I just, uh…” I instinctively grab his wrist and pull him onto the couch. “I don’t want to wait another second.” 

It sounds sexy, and he buys it, thank god. In a flash, he’s on top of me. It’s like animals unleashed. Closed mouths become open mouths become tongues hastily thrusting against each other. My hands are in his hair, then against his back, and finally, wandering down just a bit further. I pull him closer. I don’t shriek this time when I feel his, um, throbbing. 

His lips wander down to my neck and his hand wanders just inside of my dress, threatening to cup my breast. I’m feeling things I haven’t felt in a long time. I’m feeling desires I haven’t felt in a long time. 

He wanders up to my ear, pulling away ever so slightly. “Billie. Tell me that this is real,” he whispers. 

“It’s real,” I whisper back in desperation. 

He pulls away just a little bit more. “See,” he continues to whisper. “I like you, a lot. Tonight has been amazing, borderline magical.” His hand moves out of my dress and into my hair. “But I can’t keep going unless you tell me the truth.” 

“The truth?” 

“I’ve been lied to before, Billie. I’ve had someone fuck with my feelings and manipulate me. I can’t let it happen again.” 

I want his touch back so badly. “I’m not…tonight was real. All of it was real, I promise.” Okay, like 95% of it was real, but still. 

He sits up and grabs a handful of papers from my coffee table. It’s only after he shoves them closer in my face that I realize they’re all of my training papers. Literally. Documents from boot camp, STARS, BSAA, all right there. I’d been meaning to organize them into a folder. How could I have been dumb enough to just leave them out. Seriously, Jill? 

“So, please, before we go on…” he whispers. “Tell me the truth.” 


	7. A Night Cut Short

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> This is a veeeeery short transitional chapter. I needed to make a clean "break" so to speak so I can move time forward a bit. I definitely don't want this to spiral into a melodrama. That's not what we're here for (I don't think). As always, I appreciate the feedback, and let me know what you want to see!
> 
> Also, I'd love to find a way to connect with you frequent readers! You guys are awesome. There's not really a messaging system on here but I'd love to get to know you guys. What's the best way to go about it? Let me know, y'all. 
> 
> Enjoy!

I have no idea what to do. I’m frozen still. 

I could gather them quickly out of his hands and stuff them away, tell them they belong to Officer Easter, or whatever. I could pretend to have a nonexistent roommate….in a one-bedroom apartment. 

Yeah, my options are limited. 

He motions with his hands, beckoning me to give him some sort of explanation. But words won’t come out. My thoughts are incoherent. 

He sighs and stands, wandering over to the light switch. I quickly rush after him. I need to buy some time, here. He goes to flick the switch on, and I manage to slam his hand against the wall, sort of holding it hostage. 

“I can explain. Please, just give me a second.” 

We stand there, facing each other, the electricity between us still flowing through the room. Those piercing blue eyes are doing nothing to help my situation.

He raises his eyebrows. “Well? Are you going to stand there and play dumb, or are you going to tell me the truth?” 

“I-”

“Give me one good reason not to walk out this door right now.” 

He jerks his hand out of my grip and slides it down to the doorknob. I manage to slap it away. 

“Fine! Okay!” I exclaim in exasperation. “Just…go sit back down.” 

“Can we really not turn the light on right now?” he asks. 

“My lights in here are really bright,” I lie. Truthfully, I don’t want him to see how red and flustered I am right now. 

He shoots me a quizzical look, but slowly saunters back over to the couch, holding an iron grip on my stupid papers. He points to Mr. Lampy, who’s sitting dejected in the awkward corner between my living room and kitchen. “Can we turn a lamp on, then?” 

“Yeah, uh, maybe. Let me, uh, see if there’s a bulb.” I already know there’s not a bulb in there, because I fucking made out with this lamp a few days ago. But he doesn’t need to know that. 

There’s a cabinet under my kitchen sink where I usually keep household supplies, because my apartment’s tiny and, well, you have to fit things wherever you can. I take my sweet time sifting through everything, not wanting to face him. 

“Well?” He seethes impatiently. “Are you going to explain things or not?” 

I take a deep breath. Surprisingly, it’s easier to spew things when I’m not face-to-face with him. 

“The truth? Well, a lot of this is really a big misunderstanding, because-”

“Jill Valentine,” he whispers. 

Shit. 

I grab a light bulb and pop back up. His eyes are widened in shock. Or maybe surprised is a better word. Or even fear? It’s not the face I was expecting. 

Now I really can’t make eye contact. My head’s spinning. I stick the light bulb in Mr. Lampy, trying desperately to get my thoughts together so I can come up with an action plan. What do I say? Do I deny it? Do I tell him the truth? How _much_ of the truth do I tell him? 

Why was the name so familiar to him? He didn’t read it like you’d expect someone who’s never heard the name before. He read it like he _knows_ _who Jill Valentine is._

“I, uh, um-”

“Are you Jill Valentine?”

I flip Mr. Lampy’s switch. Now I can see that Leon has a really, really strange look in his eyes. Like…optimistic? 

What the hell is happening?

Before I even get a chance to protest, he finds my old STARS I.D. that has my picture on it, clear as day, with my name written right underneath it. 

I feel defeated. I collapse onto the couch, rubbing my face. I’m such an idiot. I’m such a _fucking_ idiot. 

“Yes,” I finally whisper. 

He tosses the paper aside and starts laughing. Like, one of those I-can’t-believe-you-right-now laughs. “God, it makes so much sense. Billie Easter…Jill Valentine. Whoever came up with your undercover name is a goddamn idiot.” 

Ouch. 

I open my mouth to say something, but he interrupts. “You know Claire’s brother. You were Chris’s partner, right? You’re from Raccoon City. You were in STARS with him. So, what, is this some sort of practical joke? Did someone on your team put you up to this or something?”

So I guess he does know RPD from Chris. Great. How much is Chris sharing with his sister? I guess classified information isn’t classified anymore when an entire city gets obliterated. 

“Look,” I finally interject. “I found Claire by complete chance. I didn’t, you know, necessarily think I’d end up finding Chris’s sister, okay? So when she asked me what my full name was, I panicked, because I figured if she knew who I really was, she’d shut the door in my face.” 

“But you have an email address that’s, like, billie-one-two-three or something.” 

“Yeah, well-”

“Why exactly did you get in contact with us? What are you gaining from keeping this up?” 

I pause. Well, actually, I almost tell him that I’m looking for Chris. But then I realize that if I tell him, this whole thing will end. 

And the fluttering feelings I’ve been getting in my stomach tell me that I’m not ready to let go. That this may actually be worth _fighting for._

I can’t believe myself right now.

“Because I really like you guys,” I squeak. “I originally changed my name because I didn’t know what I was getting into, and I didn’t want some random creep knowing my real name.” I take a deep breath. “And I wanted this. I still want it. I wanted this with you two. We have this bond that’s growing so well. I was scared if you knew who I really was, you wouldn’t want to take me seriously anymore. So I changed my name and, well, lied about my career.”

I’m not lying anymore. 

“Were you ever planning on telling us the truth?” 

Shit. I have no idea. 

“I mean, eventually. I just…didn’t know how to go about it.” 

He pauses, tapping his hand against the arm of the couch. “So, the fake name was just an embarrassment thing? You’re not trying to prank us or something?” 

I rub my eyes. “Everything else I’ve told you is one-hundred percent true. Well, um, except for Officer Easter. I’ll cop up to that one.” 

To my surprise, he actually laughs. “I kind of figured.” 

Silence fills the air. He seems surprisingly relaxed. It takes a solid minute or two for him to lean forward and set his hand on my leg. It scares me at first. I recoil without meaning to, but eventually relax. 

“Okay,” he finally mutters. 

“Okay?”

He grunts. “I mean, it’s not cool that you lied, at _all,_ but I also can’t…necessarily blame you, either.” 

“I’ve never done this before, either,” I blurt out. If I’m getting things off my chest, I might as well go whole-hog. 

“Done what?” 

“You know.” I shrug. “The unicorn thing.”

“Wait, you’re new to polyamory?” 

“I don’t even know what polyamory _is_.” 

He shoots me another quizzical look. “It’s when more than two people-”

I snort. “Yeah, yeah, I got the context clues.” 

He furrows his eyebrows. “You seem to have quite the sarcastic personality buried under there somewhere.” 

“Yeah.”

More silence. He clicks his tongue. “I like you. So I maybe…actually want to keep this going.” 

I feel like I could fly. 

“You do?” I ask. 

“You have to promise me that you’re being honest. It’s going to take some time to build trust, especially after this. But I reckon it’s worth a try.” 

I smile. “Okay.”

He pauses again, shifting. “I don’t think we should tell Claire yet, though. It’ll freak her out, messing around with someone Chris knows. We’ll have to find a way to break the news to her gently.”

I nod along. 

“Does Chris know about this?”

Oh god. _Chris_. Somehow, amongst all of tonight’s chaos, I kind of forgot about him. 

“Um…no.”

“Good. Okay.” He pats my leg, just like Carlos always does. “You have to promise me no more lies. Everything except your name will be one-hundred percent the truth.” 

“I promise.” 

He stands. “Okay. Um. I think it’s time for me to head out.”

“You’re ready to call it a night already?” I try to joke. 

He motions toward a growing blood stain on the couch. Ugh. That’s going to be a bitch to get out. “I think _you_ might be the one ready to call it a night.” He walks over to the door before I have a chance to say anything. Not that I really have anything to say. “Goodnight, _Jill._ I’ll call you soon.” 

And with that, he’s gone. 

It’s only after I get myself, ahem, cleaned up that the situation really hits me. He knows who I am. He knows I know Chris. He also, probably, knows where Chris is, and could have easily helped me locate him if I told him the truth. I could’ve talked myself out of this mess. I could’ve gotten my answer and left this whole situation behind. 

But I didn’t. 

Because I don’t want this to end anymore.


	8. Secrets, Secrets, Are No Fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> Thank you for all the wonderful comments. They give me life, you have no idea. They're really keeping me going right now. 
> 
> I've been struggling to write lately. I've been suffering some run-of-the-mill writer's block and insecurity. I'll give you guys the long-winding explanation on how I'm an actual aspiring author and how I started writing fanfiction because of COVID and blah blah blah some other time, if you'd like :) 
> 
> Please let me know what you'd like to see! Do you want sex? No sex? Does anyone care about Jarod at this point?
> 
> As always, enjoy!

Okay. I’m not counting, I promise. 

Claire called me the morning after my little date with Leon. She surprisingly didn’t press for details; she just wanted to let me know that Leon told her we “had a blast”, but that we also didn’t have sex yet (haha). She still called me Billie. She ended the phone call with “I’m ready to get dirty when you are”. And yeah, I might actually be ready. 

Except it’s been six days, twelve hours, and thirty-six minutes since I’ve heard from them. I’m not trying to watch the clock, but I can’t help myself. I did try to call about four days ago, but nobody answered. I left a message and everything. 

Thirty-seven minutes. 

I’m tempted to pick up the phone and call them again, but stupid Jarod cuts my thoughts short. 

“Valentine!” 

I peel the sticker off my webcam. He immediately grimaces. 

“You look like a hot mess.”

“Yeah? I feel like a hot mess.” 

“It’s because you can’t get your hands _out_ of your hot mess.” 

I scowl. “I’m seriously not in the mood right now. What do you need?” 

“Are the interns doing okay?” 

BSAA has men (and I think one token girl) in my living room, gracelessly moving my shit from this apartment to my new one on the other side of the property. I told them to do my room last, so I could hide under the covers appropriately. I know I should be grateful I have help, but then again, I’m not the one who asked to move in the first place. 

“They’re fine. I don’t think anybody’s dropped anything yet.” 

“Good. Whatever. You told me you had an update for me. I’m waiting.” 

Maybe I should tell Jarod that the mission was a bust. Am I allowed to give up? As badly as I wish I could let everything go, I know it’s not worth losing my job. 

“I’m getting closer to the sister. I’ve almost got intel.” It sounds so robotic coming out of my mouth. 

“You sure about that, Valentine?” Jarod seethes. 

“Positive.” 

He rubs his face. “I know you don’t care, but there was another break-in in London.” 

I shift in my seat. “You seem to be the one who doesn’t care. There’s been, what, four of them? You tell me about them and then you forget about them, like it’s no big deal that someone’s repeatedly infiltrating headquarters. If you’re not going to take it seriously, neither am I.”

Did I just hit my wit’s end? Whoa.

“You better watch your mouth, Valentine.”

“See? That’s what you say every time. You have no defense, huh?”

“I could report you.” 

I exhale. I’m one breath short of saying “go for it”. I _do_ need this job. 

“Look. My point is that if you’re going to sit here and press me for details, I have every right to do the same.” 

“Yeah? I was getting to that, before you rudely interrupted me.” 

“Fine. Sorry.” 

He sighs. “We received a tip that a former member of STARS may be behind the repeated break-ins. There’s no confirmation, but it’s a possibility, apparently.” 

“That wouldn’t make any sense,” I reply. “Only four of us survived, as far as we know.”

He pauses, like he’s looking for some sort of argument. “We know it’s not Barry, since he’s working here with us. It leaves…god, what was her name? Rachel?”

“Rebecca. It wouldn’t be her. She left the force. Went back to school, I think.” 

“Yes, exactly. So guess who the only other candidate is?” 

Ah, shit. 

“Where did you get the tip from?” 

“That’s classified information. But the fact that this is such a surprise to you makes me think you don’t actually have a lead, after all.” 

I hug my knees to my chest, trying not to tip my desk chair over. I’ve lost some of my core strength in the past few months. “Even if I find him, I might not be able to get any intel out of him. If I want the truth, I have to squeeze my way in. Make everyone involved trust me enough.” 

“There’s multiple people involved?” 

Those words send a dagger through my chest. 

“Look, let me get through this whole moving bullshit, and then we’ll touch base. ‘Kay?” 

Surprisingly, his face softens, ever so slightly. “Fine. I’ll be looking into the break-ins myself. Just make sure you get all your thongs packed tightly so the interns don’t steal them.” 

I roll my eyes and throw the tape back over the webcam, then turn my speakers off. 

I crawl into my bed, shoving some dirty pants and Wild GRL out of the way. I haven't written in my journal in a while. I think admitting out loud (on paper?) that I'm missing them will make me feel even more pathetic. 

Curling into fetal position doesn't make me feel better. Neither does lying on my back. Or throwing the comforter over my body. Or staring at the ceiling, counting sheep and cows and floating blue vibrators. I wonder, however briefly, if I managed to move Dmitri out of the couch before the BSAA goonies came to move it. Then I realize I don't care enough to find out. If they find it, they find it. 

I'm restless. I give up on the whole burying-myself-in-the-bed thing and hop back onto my computer. I open my billie12345 email and briefly contemplate sending them something, but then stop. But then I start reading all of the emails Claire's sent me in the past. All the ones where she calls me beautiful, where she talks about how much fun we're having, about how much she looks forward to every meeting. 

I close my email out. I've got to get a grip. It's only been a few weeks. But it's not like I'm sitting here in love with them. It feels like a craving. Like I'm intrigued, and I want more. I need more, maybe? 

Especially since Leon knows the truth. 

Then I think, maybe I'm just really into the whole being-a-unicorn idea. Like, maybe they've lit some sort of weird, kinky fire inside of me, and maybe this is my chance to be real with myself? Or maybe I've just been lonely and desperate this whole time, and I like getting attention from two people instead of one. Maybe it's not Claire and Leon, personally. 

I pull up a search engine and type in "how to find a relationship as a unicorn". Surprisingly, it's specific enough to lead me to some results. 

_Unicorns can find willing couples through word-of-mouth, sex clubs, or, more commonly, the Internet. Couples often use codewords on personal sites to find interested unicorns. Those looking to join a couple can use the following keywords:_

"Whoa! What's going on here? Did Pretty Boy and Soccer Mom ditch you?" 

Carlos's voice sends me jumping back, to the point where I almost comically fall out of my chair. Actually, I think I would've if he hadn't stopped the chair from toppling over. 

"How the hell did you get in here?!" I scream. 

He raises an eyebrow, then gestures toward my bedroom door. "You left the front door open? I just snuck in with the dudes you've got moving your furniture." 

"How'd you get into my room?"

He bites his lip, then laughs. "I thought you heard me opening the door. But apparently you were a bit, um, distracted?" 

I stand up and pull him into a hug. He seems to eagerly return the gesture. 

"How are you doing, supercop? You stiffening that upper lip a bit, I hope? I'm getting tired of mopey timid-ass Jill." 

I slap his arm. "I'm not mopey. I'm just...I mean, this was all uncharted territory." 

He eyes my computer screen, then shoots me a confused look. "So what's happened here, exactly? Did you go through some sort of triangle breakup?" 

I turn my head toward my bedroom door. There's an intern, probably eighteen or nineteen years old, gawking from the doorway. I see a tent starting to form in his pants. 

"Can I help you?" I ask. 

He doesn't move. I roll my eyes and slam my door in his face. 

"Sheesh," I seethe. "It's like father, like son, except it's Jarod and his questionable interns." 

He squints."You're losing your edge a bit. That was too corny." 

I bite my lip, then exhale. "I'm in a bit of a crisis mode here." 

"So you did go through a triangle breakup?" 

"They're called triads, you dumb fuck, and no, we didn't have a breakup, necessarily. I just, um...I haven't heard from them for some time."

He sits on my bed, flinging a pair of bloody underwear to the floor without even batting an eyelash. "What do you mean 'some time'?" 

I sit on the floor by his feet. "Six days, twelve hours, and fifty-two minutes." 

"You're counting?" 

"I'm fucking counting." 

He sets his arms on his knees. "Here's a crazy idea. Why don't you call them?" 

"I did. Like four days ago. They never got back to me." 

"So? Call again." 

I rub my face. "They might be ignoring me on purpose." 

"Why? Aren't they, like, weirdly obsessed with you?" 

I take a deep breath. "Leon, um, found out who I am." 

Carlos raises his eyebrows. "Elaborate." 

"Leon and I went on a date by ourselves and we went to dinner, and it went really well, and like, Claire is so wonderful to be around because she's all positive and happy, but Leon and I had this, like, weirdly deep connection, and so I was already feeling guilty, and then we went back to my place, and we were making out, and it was intense and I didn't even scream this time when he got a boner, and then he stopped because he spotted my pile of paperwork from boot camp and STARS and BSAA that I meant to put into a folder but forgot to, like a dumbass, and he questioned me, and I felt too vulnerable to lie so I told him the truth, except I was so flustered and I guess infatuated that I forgot to mention Chris. So then he told me we could continue our relationship but that we can't tell Claire yet because it'll break her heart, and then he left because I got period blood all over the couch." 

Carlos nods slowly, wide-eyed. Then, he bursts into laughter. Almost like a mean, mocking laughter. It stings. 

"Come on, Carlos, please don't be an asshole. I know I'm beyond pathetic right now. Don't rub it in." 

He runs a hand through his hair. "Ah. I'm not laughing at you. I'm just...you could make a movie about this. All the twists and turns. It's never a boring day with you, Jill." 

"Yeah, well, they haven't spoken to me in almost a week, so my life is about to get pretty boring and pathetic." 

He taps his feet against the floor. "I don't know. I think you're overreacting. It's only been a few days. Something might've come up. I'm telling you, you should be the one to call them." 

"I'm not going to do it." 

"And why not?" 

My phone rings, cutting both of us off. I practically sprint to my phone, ready to throw things to get to it faster. For the past few days, it's been nothing but telemarketers or BSAA co-operatives debriefing me on my new apartment. 

But to my sweet, sweet relief, I hear that familiar cheery voice muse through the speaker. 

"Billie! Hey! It's me, Claire!" 

"Claire?!" I sound like a small child who just reunited with her mom after getting lost at the grocery store. Or something. I clear my throat and catch my breath. "Hey! It's so good to hear from you!" 

Carlos winks and gives me a thumbs-up. I gesture for him to leave the room. He glares at me, but eventually gets up and wanders out. 

"Oh my gosh, Billie, I am so sorry about this week. Things got really hectic over here. I kept trying to find time to call but it just didn't happen. But Leon and I both miss you so much." She sounds sincere. Oblivious, for sure. 

"I miss you guys, too," I say, wanting to kick myself for how cheesy I sound. "Is everything okay?" 

"Ugh," she scoffs. "It's all such a big mess over here. Can I tell you about it over coffee? Wanna do Cafe Origin tomorrow? How does four sound?" 

"I'd love to!" I practically scream. 

"Great! Meet me at the house and we'll drive over. Leon will be working until seven but we might be able to all hang out when he gets off." 

"Sounds good," I reply. 

"Okay. Awesome. I'd love to talk longer, but like I said, things are a little crazy right now." 

"That's okay." 

"Bye, girl. Looking forward to tomorrow!" 

Click. 

I feel a huge weight lifting off my shoulders. I feel like I could fly. My heart's racing in this addictive ecstasy feeling. I'm seeing them again tomorrow. I get to keep going. 

I wander into the living room, where Carlos is pointing a couple of interns toward some of my kitchen supplies. I pull him into a hug, still buzzing from the adrenaline. 

"All good?" he asks. 

"I'm seeing them again tomorrow." 

"Great," he says with a smile.

I take a deep breath and look around at my almost-empty apartment. I realize, after about thirty seconds, that I forgot to ask Carlos why he's here in the first place. 

"How did you get here? I thought you had a few more days of training." 

He snorts. "Wow, thanks for noticing me, Jill." 

I can tell by the faded look in his eye that I've been kind of an asshole. I squeeze his hand briefly. "I'm so sorry, Carlos. You're right. How have you been? Did you leave training early?" 

He laughs. This time it's kind of a soft, easy-going laugh. "I'm not technically done. We're doing the rest remotely since it involves me learning the computer interface and all that jazz." He points to the interns. "He wanted both of us moved in at once so that they don't have to pay the interns overtime, or anything closely resembling a living wage." 

"Yeah. They're assholes, aren't they." 

He taps his thigh. "Yeah, well, they're assholes that gave me a job. I'm not one to complain."

We have this moment of semi-awkward silence. I nudge him. "When are you going to tell me about training? You've been so quiet about the whole thing."

He sort of grimaces. "Eh. Let's talk about it another time." He breaks eye contact, his face falling. He quickly picks it back up, though. "Let's go sit in the new apartment and watch TV. I think we could both use a bit of a break. I found an old DVD box set of _Golden Girls_ sitting in storage."

" _Golden Girls_?"

"Oh, sorry, didn't think you were in a position to be judging anyone, Miss Unicorn." 

We shove each other, and wander out to our new apartment together. An afternoon in front of the TV sounds great to me, considering everything I've been putting up with all this damn time. 

— —

Claire pulls me into a long hug the minute I step foot inside her door the next day. We sort of linger there for a few minutes. A week and a half ago, it would've been weird. Now, it sort of feels like heaven. She smells faintly of lavender, and her skin is ridiculously soft. I feel weak in the knees, like I could melt.

Or something. 

"Billie, I am so happy to see you. You have no idea," Claire says in an exasperated tone post-hug. "This week has been so rough." 

"What happened?" I ask. 

She glances over to the living room, then back to me. She then grabs her purse from the hook near the door and throws it over her shoulder. "Let's get out of here. I'll tell you all about it in the car." She grabs my wrist and pulls us quickly out the door, haphazardly locking it before jumping into her SUV. 

I wonder, for a moment, if something happened between her and Leon. Or if they got into a fight about me. Then I remember that Claire tends to, um, make a mountain out of a molehill. So I'm not too concerned. 

We pull out of her driveway, some random indie-pop song blaring through the speakers. She waits a couple minutes before turning it down. "Sherry got into some trouble this week." 

"What kind of trouble?" 

Claire rubs at her eyes, and I hope to god she's not about to cry. "You know, Sherry's such a good kid. She really is. And she's been through so much. So I hate to be harsh on her. But she really got herself into a doozy this time." 

I nod along. Claire's probably the only person I know over the age of ten that uses the word "doozy". I'm at least thankful it doesn't have to do with her and Leon. Or me. 

I open my mouth to ask what happened, but Claire cuts me off. "She's got these dumbass friends, excuse my language. But they're motherfucking idiots. So, like, she's out with this group. She tells me she's at Corrine's house sleeping over. But she's not. She's out with this group, including some boys." She practically whispers the word boys. "And apparently they went to this shopping center that closes real early, you know? Like the one with the Hallmark and Stein Mart and all the old lady shops. So they think the coast is clear, right? So then, one of the boys, he brings out marijuana."

I think back to all of the college parties I went to once upon a time and want to start laughing. Thankfully, I refrain. 

"And, like, okay, I'm cool. Like, duh, I know what pot is, I know people that have smoked it before. I think even Leon said he tried it once. But she's fifteen, and she was in a deserted shopping center with boys." The way Claire talks, you'd think everyone in Sherry's friend group stripped their clothes off in the open and engaged in some weed-fueled orgy in the parking lot. I can almost bet any amount of money that it was, like, four teenagers sharing a poorly-loaded joint.

"How did you find out?" I ask. 

She groans loudly. "The cops busted them! Oh my god, it was so embarrassing, getting that call from the station. Especially because Leon's a cop, so, like, they all know who Sherry is. And they were, like, Claire, your daughter's getting into trouble with the law."

"She got arrested?" 

Claire shoots me an exasperated look. "It's not going on her record or anything, but yes." She sighs. "They didn't have enough weed on them for anyone to press charges, but it was still so humiliating!" 

"What did Sherry say? Like, did she smoke it?"

"I drug tested her and it came back negative, so I guess not." Claire pauses. "She was all tears though. Totally hysterical."

"Yeah," I mutter awkwardly. "That's how most teenagers tend to be when they get caught doing something wrong."

She goes silent for a minute or so as we turn into the Cafe Origin parking lot. I kind of feel for her, in a weird way. She's only twenty-four raising a fifteen-year-old. I can't even imagine having a fifteen-year-old right now. Hell, I can't even imagine being responsible for a child, period. It must be stressful. 

So maybe getting all strung out about them not calling was a bit of an overreaction. 

"Well...now what's going to happen?" I ask awkwardly. 

Claire pulls the car into park and rests her head on the steering wheel. "She's grounded for the foreseeable future. I mean, duh. But she's mad at me for grounding her. She doesn't think it's fair since she's not the one who brought the weed. So now I'm second-guessing myself." 

I instinctively grab Claire's hand. "She snuck out and lied about where she was going. I think you can ground kids for that." 

Claire squeezes my hand, then rubs her face. "I feel like the worst parent ever. My child is a delinquent. I thought this adoption thing would be so easy, but nobody really prepares you for teenagers. Or, like, how to relate to teenagers when you're still in your twenties? I feel so stupid." 

I nod along. I don't think Sherry inhaling a microscopic amount of marijuana makes her a delinquent, but Claire does love to make everything dramatic, in her own sort of special-Claire way. "I can't believe there's such a small age gap between you guys," I admit. "How did you guys get custody of her, anyways? I'm still waiting for someone to tell me the story." 

She glances to the door of Cafe Origin, which is surprisingly busy right now, and then back to me. "I think you deserve to know at some point, yeah. But it's not really a story I can tell in public. Can I tell you on the car ride home?" 

I can't get mad at her for avoiding these things. I routinely lie to her. Except I promised I'd stop. I haven't told a lie today, right?

She turns the engine off and practically sprints out of the car. I follow behind. "I'm in a serious need of a coffee fix right now."

Claire grabs us both a large coffee and fixes it up perfectly, because she still has that weird magic coffee touch that, not going to lie, makes me swoon a little bit. I try not to guzzle it down. I'm probably not going to be getting a lot of sleep anyways, considering it's my last night in my one-bedroom before having to move in with Carlos. That's something I don't want to think about right now. 

Claire holds my hand, caressing it with her thumb. She doesn't seem to care if anyone else is watching. People here tend to be absorbed in their own little worlds, though, so nobody seems to notice. The joys of suburbia. 

"There's another reason I wanted to get together with you today," she practically whispers. I don't know why she's suddenly gotten so quiet. It's not like anyone can really hear us. 

"What's that?" I ask. A statement like that would've made me nervous when I first met her. Now I've learned to kind of read her verbal cues. 

She scoots closer to me. "I think it's finally time for the talk." 

"The talk?" 

"You know." She widens her eyes and sort of sways her head back and forth, waiting for me to pick up on the hint. I'm not. She leans even closer. "All the, like, sex stuff." 

Oh. Shit. That talk. 

Her face is turning a shade of pink. She runs her hand through her hair, trying not to snag her ponytail. "It's been, like, what? A month now?"

I shake my head. "I don't think it's been that long. Just a few weeks." It feels like it has, though. 

"Yeah, but, it's ridiculous we've gone out all these times and not talked about the bedroom stuff. Especially since I know you and Leon were maybe going to...you know...on your date." 

I can't help but snort-laugh. The not-so-subtle bloodstain on my couch seems to think otherwise. 

She sort of smiles back. "I know, I know! Like, stop being so awkward, Claire," she rambles on, once again not getting a good read on the situation. "But I think it's a good idea if we do want to get physical. Which I think we're almost ready for. Hell, you've probably been ready for ages, since you're this total sexual goddess." 

I'm halfway tempted to tell her that my only sexual partners in the last ten years have been my vibrator and Mr. Lampy, but I refrain. If she wants to believe I'm some sort of sex-expert, that's her fault. Right?

She taps her free hand against the table, very slowly and rhythmically. "So. I guess I'll start. I've never been with another woman before. You know that. But I do, you know, have sex with Leon quite regularly, so I do take, you know, the Pill." She's stumbling through her sentence so awkwardly. Bless her heart. "And we don't use condoms, but we can, you know, we'll start that, probably, I guess, I don't know? We were going to go get STD tested." 

I just kind of nod along. I don't know what to say. 

"So, like, what about you?" she asks. 

I'm still kind of spaced-out. "What about me?" 

She nervously laughs. "Like, birth control and stuff. What, um, what do you use?" 

I don't think it's a surprise to anyone that I've never used it. Hello, I've only had sex twice, and only once could it have resulted in a pregnancy. I don't want to lie, but the truth isn't going to do me any favors, either. So this is going to be interesting. 

"I, um, I'm not on anything...at the moment, no." 

She widens her eyes, then nervous-laughs. "Wow. That's brave of you. And kind of surprising. You seem so sex-positive. I thought you'd be one of those cool girls on a LARC or something." 

Christ. What the fuck is a LARC? 

I don't want to be a liar, but this whole conversation is petrifying me a little too much, so I just keep nodding along like a dumbass. 

"I thought about getting an IUD, but I'm scared, so just the good-ol' pill for me," she chirps awkwardly. I wish I could get a notebook out and start jotting these terms down, so I can at least Google them when I get home. But this conversation is going a mile a minute. "So, I think we'd all feel safe if you got on something? Are you thinking of maybe just also getting on the Pill?" 

I can't even remember the last time I went to the doctor. Or the lady doctor. But I guess I can't avoid it, can I?

"Yeah, I'll, uh, schedule an appointment," I reply. 

"Cool! See if you can get a test while you're at it, so we know we're all good to go." 

I'm pretty sure getting an STD requires sexual contact with something other than a blue piece of plastic, but I nod anyways. 

"So, after you're on the Pill, do you think you're ready to do some exploring in the bedroom?" She sounds corny, like we're pirates on a ship in a bad kids movie. "Do you want to do one-on-one play first, or should we all hop in together?" 

"One-on-one," I blurt. I'm definitely telling the truth on that front. 

She smiles. "I agree." She squeezes my hand a little tighter. "That means Leon and I get to fight over who gets to take you to bed first." She winks. 

These sexual conversations used to freak me out, but I feel like I've grown to accept it, in some way. Except the reality of the situation will probably hit me and I'll probably freak out, but sitting here at the table, holding her hand? This works just fine for me. 

Plus, I can't act like deep down I don't kind of want things to, you know, progress. I'm just nervous. I mean, it'll probably be really, really obvious that I'm, basically, a virgin. 

Wild GRL is getting a big entry tonight. 

She squeezes my hand one more time, then loosens her grip a bit. "We can talk about it more once you're, you know, on something. Let's enjoy the rest of our coffee. I'm loving being out of the house, you know?" 

— —

We don't stay at Cafe Origin for very long. Claire's still really strung out about the whole Sherry-Marijuana fiasco. Seriously, you'd think she'd found out Sherry murdered someone, or something. I don't know a nice way to tell her that a good chunk of teenagers smoke marijuana at least once, and that Sherry will probably not end up in prison with a teardrop tattoo any time soon. So I nod and nod and nod along. 

When we get in the car, I remember that Claire promised to tell me Sherry’s adoption story. It’s not like I’m dying to know, necessarily, but I’m happy to take the pressure off of myself whenever I can. Maybe I’ll secretly discover that Claire and Leon have deep, dark secrets, and this whole Billie Easter thing will pale in comparison. I really, really don’t want to have to be the bad guy. Any more than I already am, anyways. 

“So, you said you’d tell me about Sherry,” I announce as we get into the car. I grab her hand and hold it, so I don’t seem like a total bitch. 

Claire starts the engine, then slides back in the seat. Guess we’re not moving just yet. “Yeah. You’re right. I think it’s time you know. Can’t hide things from you forever, can we?” 

Ironic. 

She takes a deep breath, avoiding eye contact. “Listen. I need you to promise not to tell Leon I’m telling you this stuff. Not right now, anyways. It would mess with his head to, like, know that you know. I mean, don’t lie, just, like, don’t mention it.” 

I’m so curious by now that I don’t even stop to question how messy this situation is about to get. I just nod and mutter an “I promise”. 

She exhales loudly. “Okay. Have you ever heard of a town called Raccoon City? It was about a three or four hour drive from here.” 

_Have I heard of Raccoon City?_ It almost sounds like a joke. I lost a good chunk of my sanity there. I remember that I promised Leon I wouldn’t lie anymore. But this is starting to border into dangerous territory. 

Leon told me he’d heard of Raccoon City from Chris. Okay, he never told me that. I just assumed. Maybe I assumed wrong. Maybe Claire’s about to tell me all things that I’ve been dying to know for so long, except right now I really don’t care as much anymore. 

“Um, yeah, I think so? I’m not sure.” I half-lie. 

She buckles in and pulls out of the parking lot. I think she’s just trying to buy some time. I wish she wouldn’t. This is getting interesting. 

“They had a virus outbreak a few years ago and had to fire a missile into the city to blow it up. It was awful. You’d never even be able to imagine, Billie.” She lowers her voice, as if anyone would be able to hear us. “This virus, it, like…it turned people into zombies, basically. It sounds so ridiculous. But that’s what happened. Their skin got petrified and they wandered around trying to eat people. Totally disgusting and terrifying. Nothing like anything you’ve ever seen before. Not even in the movies.” 

I’m still nodding along. Nodding isn’t technically lying. Except for the fact that I _was_ there, that I saw all those zombies, and that the way she describes them is a painful understatement. 

“I know you probably don’t believe me, and I don’t have a way to prove it. All the authorities, they like, hid so much information from the American public. It makes me so mad.” 

“I believe you,” I reply, because I do, because _I was there._

“So, Leon…that was his first police officer job. Raccoon City. His first day was at the epicenter of the outbreak, like just a few days before they blew up the whole city.” 

“So he was there when it happened?” I blurt. Funny that Leon didn’t mention that part while waving the papers in my face and accusing me of being a liar. 

Except I am a liar, and I have absolutely no room to judge. 

She shrugs her shoulders. “Yeah. Um. We both were. That’s where we met. Raccoon City.” 

It takes me a second to absorb what she’s telling me. They were in Raccoon City at the same time I was. They saw everything I saw. Maybe they even fought the same monsters. They made it out alive. We all went through this together, and I didn’t even know. 

Did Leon figure that part out?

“I was looking for my brother. I think I mentioned him. Chris? He worked for this special tactics force in Raccoon City for years. I can’t remember what it was called.” 

I almost instinctively blurt “STARS”, then stop myself. 

She continues on. “Well, he disappeared that night, briefly, so I tried to escape after I found out he wasn’t there, but then I found Sherry. Her parents, they, um, they were involved with the virus, and they were killed. She got really sick, and Leon and I had to get her out of the city. She got better, obviously, but she had nowhere to go. So it was either us or the foster care system. And, well, we weren’t just going to put her into the system, you know?” 

I blink, and realize we’re already in her driveway. It’s like time’s stopped somehow. I have no idea how to absorb any of this information. Is this real? 

“You probably don’t believe me,” she mutters. “You think I’m bullshitting. That’s okay. You don’t have to. But it’s the truth.” 

“No, I believe you,” I reply. I conveniently leave out that I believe her because I was _there._ “But, um, why doesn’t Leon want me to, uh, know?” 

She clicks her tongue. “Well, you see, Chris, he works for this organization now. And…well, he’s thinking of hiring Leon.” 


	9. What Goes Where?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, guys! I'm back after like 23084032984 years. 
> 
> So sorry for the delay. You guys have hopped on board here just as I'm experiencing some big ol' life changes. I won't bore you with the details, but I will share that I've just recently taken on the role as my sorority's alumni advisor, because I think you guys deserve to know that this story you love so much is being written by a sorority girl. Yes, really. 
> 
> I thought with the way the story was going, this chapter needed some comic relief, but worry not, all the drama will come flooding back soon. 
> 
> As always, I'm open to feedback, as well as ways to connect with you guys! I may share social media/etc. on my profile soon. 
> 
> Enjoy! Sorry for the long note :)

“So after she said that, what did you say?” Carlos asks.

I groan, rubbing my forehead in frustration. “It was a disaster,“ I say back. “I literally tripped over my words.”

I can already tell that the worst part about living with Carlos is that he’s going to make me feel stupid for every little thing that I do. Maybe I deserve it, but still.

“Tripped over your words how?“ Carlos asked, smirking.

“I meant to ask what organization he’s going to be working for, but then I couldn’t think of a way to word it without sounding super suspicious, so I just sort of said congratulations. Then the car went silent. The minute that we got back, I ran to my car and came straight home.“

Carlos starts howling with laughter. Am I really surprised at this point? “I don’t know how you’ve made it this far, supercop. You’re always within inches of just completely blowing your cover. It’s ridiculous.”

“That was a huge load of information she threw at me at once!” I shout. “I didn’t know what to do! I’m sitting around feeling guilty about lying to Leon and Claire, and I find out they’ve been lying to me, too! And worse, that they were there that night!” I lean closer, as if someone’s going to overhear us. “They might’ve been fighting those godawful monsters, too.”

Carlos leans back into the couch. “I wouldn’t call it lying. Omitting information, maybe. Not as bad as calling yourself Billie Easter and lying about your sex-pertise. ”

I close my eyes and sigh. “I hate you sometimes.”

“Because I said sex-pertise?”

I sort of kick at the bottom of the couch, hoping the vibrations sort of zap him a little bit. “Because you’re not being any help here.”

He’s still laughing. “I like how you said it was a huge load.”

“For fuck’s sake Carlos!”

It’s only day two of living together, and I can already tell that it’s going to be equal parts therapeutic and chaotic. I hate when he calls me out for stuff.

I hate when he’s right.

“So, you have an opportunity to get some serious intel, and you’re worried about what, exactly?” Carlos asks. 

“It’s not that I’m worried, per se. It’s just that I feel really overwhelmed right now. I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid this is all going to blow up in my face.“

“It _is_ probably going to blow up in your face,” Carlos says, sticking his tongue out. “But by the sounds of it, Claire is as clueless as it gets. It sounds like all you really need to worry about is Leon.“

“But I don’t want to worry about Leon,” I explain, still struggling to get my words together. “He’s supposed to be the easy one now. He’s the one that I’m supposed to be myself around. He’s the one that told me not to lie anymore. And I can’t even ask him about it, because Claire told me not to say anything about it.”

“Did you tell her that you were there in Raccoon City, too?“

“No! Keep up with the details! Claire still thinks that I’m Billie Easter. She doesn’t even know that I’m, you know, in BSAA.”

We sit in silence for several seconds. Finally Carlos clicks his tongue and kind of snorts.

“This is some crazy ass shit.“

“Yeah? It just keeps getting worse and worse.“

“At least it’s entertaining as all hell.“

“Yeah, because you get to be on the sidelines!” I practically shout. “When you’re actually in the situation, it’s not all that fun.“

“Newsflash Jill: nobody held a gun to your head and said to go through with this. You decided to go on this little mission all by yourself.”

“Yeah, but if I had known that they were involved with Raccoon City, I wouldn’t have bothered. This just makes it ten times messier. I really don’t know what to do anymore.“

Carlos taps his hand against the arm of the couch. “It’s not like it was a total impossibility. She is Chris’s brother. It’s reasonable to assume that she had ties to Raccoon City. I guess the odds were a little low, but they were still there.“

I hesitate before responding.

“Do you know something that I don’t?” I wrinkle my eyebrows.

Carlos throws his hands in the air. “You know just as much as I do.”

“Promise?”

“I swear.”

We sit in more silence. I never thought things could be awkward with Carlos, but things sure as hell don’t feel comfortable right now.

“Do you want my honest opinion?“ Carlos asks.

I’m not sure if I do, but I’m not anyways.

“I don’t know if you remember, but there were still hundreds, if not thousands of people still in Raccoon City when everything was happening. Just because they were there doesn’t mean that they were caught up in the things that we were caught up in. For all we know, they were just civilians like everybody else, waiting for an escape.”

“But Leon was a cop for a Raccoon City, apparently,” I point out.

“So? The cops were totally useless, remember? They bailed on the city like a bunch of pussies. In fact, it felt like we were the only ones trying to do anything about anything.”

“I think you forget that most of the officers turned into zombies themselves,” I sigh, practically at a whisper. 

“Point still stands.”

We sit in more silence. I wish I didn’t feel so damn uncomfortable right now, because the last thing I need is something else to stress about. 

His face softens, and I feel a little bit better. I know I don’t really deserve his empathy right now. All I’ve done ever since we reconnected is talk about myself and my stupid, um, _sex-capades_. 

“I think you’re looking at this the wrong way,” Carlos finally whispers. “Try to be positive. Think of it this way: you’re one step closer to actually finding Chris. If you can figure out who’s trying to hire Leon, you may have your answer sitting right in front of you.”

“But I can’t manipulate them anymore. It’s not right.”

“Okay, but if Chris is working for somebody dangerous, you may actually be protecting them. If you think of it that way, does it make you feel better?“

I hadn’t really thought about it that way before.

“You really think so?“

“Yeah,“ he smart. “Go write in Wild GRL that you’re their guardian angel or some cheesy ass shit to make yourself feel better.”

I roll my eyes and fold my arms. “ I would never stoop down to that level.“

“I don’t know what you’re capable of at this point anymore,” Carlos replies. “You’re full of so many goddamn surprises.“

Carlos stands up, patting me on the leg briefly before grabbing a beer from our fridge. God, that’s still feel so weird to say. _Our fridge_. It’s not like living with him has been all that bad, but I was so used to being alone. Then again, just a couple of months ago, I was also used to being single and perfectly sexless. So, I have to be proud of myself for being flexible. Right?

“When’s the next time you’re going to see them again?” Carlos asked as the swings the refrigerator door open the sound of two beer bottles clanking together is somewhat comforting right now. I need a beer. I hate saying that, but I do.

“I actually have to go to the doctor first,“ I mutter, almost instantly regretting it.

Carlos quickly hops back onto the couch, tossing me the beer bottle. I eagerly pry it open. I have to admit, Carlos has better taste in beer than I do. He goes all out and gets the three dollar stuff instead of the two dollar stuff like I do.

“Doctor? What for?” Carlos asks. 

I almost say it, but the word sort of gets stuck in my mouth. I feel embarrassed. Like a teenage girl. Why am I being so stupid?

“You know, you haven’t told me much about your new mission,” I quickly change the subject. “I’m really curious. It must be something super important. They ended your training early.”

Carlos shakes his head. “You’re not getting out of it that easily. You have to tell me what’s going on.“

“It’s none of your business?“ It comes out more of squeak than an assertive statement.

“None of my business?“ Carlos asks. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I think we’re a little bit past TMI at this point, Jill.”

“I have to get on birth control,“ I finally admit. “By the way, do you have any idea what a LARC is?”

“What?”

“Yeah, I have absolutely no idea either, but Claire brought it up.” 

Carlos taps his beer bottle against mine briefly, gesturing me to drink. I take a long sip, enjoying the burning sensation. 

“Is that like one of those weird things where you shoot up? Like heroin, except birth control? I dated a girl in college who did something like that. Never knew what it was called."

“You dated a girl that injected birth control? That’s a thing?” 

I guess the American sex education system really did fail us all.

He snorts. “Well, we didn’t date, we just fucked on the regular. Or maybe not even on the regular. Like, three or four times, man. But the whole shooting thing up thing was really weird.”

“Okay, I’m not doing that. I don’t think that’s what Claire meant.”

“Well then what are you going to do?“ Carlos jobs.

“That’s what I haven’t figured out yet,“ I say, taking another long sip. 

“What’s wrong with good old-fashioned condoms?” Carlos continues.

“Apparently they aren’t as effective as people think they are,” I explain. “People mess them up more than we’d like to think."

“Well I never messed up,” Carlos insists.

“And how do you know?”

“Because you don’t see any Carlos Juniors wandering around the Earth, do you?”

I point my beer bottle in his direction and stick my tongue out. “Not that you know of.”

He kicks me, and I kick him back. I’m feeling a little bit of the buzz from the beer already. I welcome the sweet release.

He stands, hitting his thighs. “I have an idea.”

“What’s that?“ I ask. 

He wanders into his room, swinging the door open. “Hang on just a second!” he shouts from his room.

Not ten seconds later, he re-emerges with a bong. Fully loaded.

“Where the hell did you get weed from?“ I exclaim, nearly falling over. 

He shoots me a sarcastic look. “The grocery store. Jesus, where do you think?” 

“You’ve lived in Chicago for, like, two days and you already have a dealer?” 

He jumps onto the couch, tucking the little green flakes further into the bowl and flickering the lighter. He almost lights it up, then stops, shooting me a confused look. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve never lit up before,” he squawks. “You’re not a cop anymore. You can’t arrest me.” 

I roll my eyes and fold my arms. “Of course I have. It’s just been a while.” 

He flickers the lighter again, but stops. “What are you so afraid of, then?” 

I shift. “I mean, it’s kind of ironic, considering how badly Claire freaked out after she caught Sherry with those kids.”

Carlos shrugs. “So? We aren’t teenagers. We can handle it. Shit’s getting weird and I think alcohol might not be strong enough.” 

He lights up. Moments later, the familiar stench and bubbling sound hit. He takes a giant rip, leaning his head back in satisfaction. 

I grab the bong out of his hands, burning myself a little on the pipe. “Fuck it. Let me at it.” 

He laughs slowly. You know, the typical stoner-laugh. “That’s what I’m talking about.” 

I forget what to do at first, so Carlos reaches over and removes the carb for me. Sweet, sweet smoke fills my lungs. Just a few moments later, I feel floaty. And giggly. Why is everything suddenly so funny?

The rest of the bowl sort of flies by in a blur. Everything’s so warm and fuzzy. I want to hug Carlos. And the couch. And Mr. Lampy. We sit in a comfortable silence for a while. I’m swaying back and forth. It just feels like I need to be moving my body, you know?

Carlos lets out another stoner-laugh. “Okay, now it’s time.”

“Time for what?”

“Looking up the birth control stuff.”

We both giggle. 

“I shouldn’t…” It’s hard for me to get my words out. “I shouldn’t have to be high to do it.” 

“Yes, but…” I guess he’s also stumbling on his words. “You’re already stoned? So does it matter?”

“Oh god,” I continue. “I do. I have to look up birth control stuff.”

We both wander into my room, booting my computer up. I sort of remember in the back of my mind that my room’s bugged, but who cares? I feel so light and carefree. 

Carlos at first sits on the bed, but I guess it’s too far away from him, so instead he sits on his knees next to my office chair, leaning against the desk. His eyes are so bloodshot. Mine probably are, too. 

I pull up the search engine, then draw a blank. “What do I look up?”

We both hesitate, then laugh. I think I’m stoner-laughing too.

“The LARC word,” Carlos finally replies. 

“Oh yeah!” 

I type in L-A and it autocompletes to LARC. Creepy. I come across a website called “planbaby.com” that promises to offer detailed information on birth control methods. 

“LARC stands for long-acting reversible contraception,” I read aloud. “There are two types: the IUD and the Implant. The IUD is inserted…vaginally.” It’s becoming kind of hard to read, because my vision’s all fuzzy. “And the Implant is inserted into your arm.” 

Carlos’s face recoils in horror. “Oh god. Read the next paragraph.” 

“Using LARCs, like any other type of birth control, causes long-term psychological damage as demonic energy seeps through the device and alters your aura,” I continue on, grimacing. “Does it really say that or am I just high as hell?” 

Carlos runs his finger over the screen, re-reading the words. “No. It really says that.” 

“A woman’s purpose is to birth our future generation. Without filling the womb, a woman will never feel satisfaction in her life, and will therefore turn to Satan, devoting her life to heresy, doomed to Hell. Which do you choose - Heaven or Hell?” I click the back button, not wanting to read on. 

“I don’t think that’s right,” Carlos mutters. 

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s right either,” I whisper back. 

I click on the second result; a family planning clinic. They have a huge infographic on the front page, with seemingly endless options listed. The pictures sort of float around on the page. 

Carlos jabs his hand at the screen and all the pictures snap back into place. I think I’m really high. “There! That’s the heroin one!” 

I click on the image, but the text on the screen is too tiny for my baked self to read. I guess Carlos couldn’t read it, because he just sort of squinted his eyes and looked away. 

“I don’t think it’s heroin,” I state as matter-of-factly as I can. 

Carlos barely has his eyes open. “Do you think injecting heroin after having sex keeps someone from getting pregnant?” 

I don’t know whether to laugh or freak out. “Shit, man. I don’t know.”

“That girl, she never injected it into her vagina or anything. It went into her arm.”

“But I think the website said that’s where it’s supposed to go,” I reply. 

Carlos runs his hands through his hair. “But what if she was using heroin instead of real birth control, but she inject the heroin in the wrong spot, and now there’s a Carlos Junior running around this Earth?” 

I can tell he’s panicking, but I can’t help but stoner-laugh. “Dude. I think we’re really fucked up.” 

Carlos nods. “Beer and weed aren’t always the best combination.” 

I close the browser window. “I think I’m just going to wait until my doctor’s appointment.”

“Good idea.” 

He jumps back onto the bed, staring intently at the ceiling. I instinctively crawl in, too, because my blanket and my sheets look heavenly right now. We keep a considerable distance from each other, both staring at the ceiling, as if something’s going to pop out from it. An answer. Or a shooting star. Or maybe Chris. 

“I get scared that one day I’m going to accidentally fall in love with you,” Carlos mutters out of absolutely nowhere. 

Excuse me?

I pop up, trying to make eye contact. He’s still staring at the ceiling, like I don’t even exist. 

“Like, it’s weird, because like, you’re like my best friend. I love the time we spend together. And, like, I mean, I’ll be real, you know I’d tap that at any given opportunity. So, like, isn’t that what happens when you’re in love with someone?” 

I shake my head. “It kind of just sounds like you want to fuck me.” 

He snorts. “Then what’s being in love supposed to feel like?” 

I sigh. Surprisingly, I’m not having to think that hard on it. They say weed always brings out the truth. Goddamn it. 

“It’s like, this floating happy feeling. Like, your heart gets full and happy and you just want to hold them close. I guess they make you feel complete or something. I don’t know. It’s mushier than friendship? A spark.” 

I can feel Carlos’s leg shaking on the mattress. “Yeah, I guess so.” He hesitates. “Do you feel that? With Claire and Leon?”

I nod, then realize he can’t see me. “I think I do.” 

“Lucky you,” he whispers. 

After a few moments, he rolls over to his side, looking straight at me. “You know, no matter what, I’m always _down_.”

I roll over onto _my_ side, staring him straight in the eye. “We can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

I struggle to hold my laughter in. “We can’t. I don’t have any heroin to inject into my vagina.” 

We hesitate, then burst into laughter. Like full-on belly laughter this time. Then, at some point, we drift off into a peaceful sleep. 

— —

Going to the doctor’s office the next morning with a weed hangover (which, yes, apparently, can actually happen) was not the smartest idea. I felt so groggy and out of it, to the point where I could barely get myself dressed. It wasn’t like an alcohol hangover, where you just have a bad headache and eat greasy food and you’re fine. This one was disorienting. 

The doctor must’ve noticed, too, because the appointment only lasted about twenty minutes. I think she said something about “visiting other options at a later date” as she wrote me a prescription for regular birth control pills. 

I wasted no time when I got home and eagerly open the bag. The little pills are daunting hell. I remember, however faintly, that I’m supposed to take them at the same time every day. I look at the clock. 5:26 PM. I want to bite the bullet, so I guess I’m taking my birth control at 5:26 PM every day. 

I stupidly expect something to happen as I swallow that first little pill down. Does something change? Do you feel more womanly, or less womanly? Do you feel your ovaries slip closed or something? I wish I hadn’t been so weed-hungover at the damn doctor. 

I decide to lie down on the couch, staring into space. Well, more accurately, at the black screen of the TV. I’m too lazy to turn it on. I’m sort of drowning in my thoughts. All of which, in all honesty, are just variations of “what the hell am I doing?”

What the hell _am_ I doing?

Carlos emerges from his room a short time later, carrying an empty bag of Doritos and a paper plate that probably had a sandwich on it. 

“You’re eating dinner early,” I jab. 

He tosses the stuff into the trash can. “Nah. It’s leftover from lunch.”

“You just now ate lunch?” 

“No. A few hours ago. I just got really caught up with work.” 

Right. Work. The thing I’m supposed to be doing. The thing that got me into this whole predicament in the first place. 

“What do they have you working on?” I ask. 

He sits on the arm of the couch. “It’s really complicated. I’ll explain some other time.”

I groan, sitting up. “Are you going to pull one of those ‘you’re a girl so you wouldn’t get it’ lines? Because I’ve been doing this longer than you have.” 

He snorts. “Damn, Jill, give me a little credit.” He then shifts, tapping his hands together, averting eye contact. “Did things get weird between us last night?” 

I’d almost forgotten about our little bed incident. 

“I mean, I don’t think so? It’s not like anything happened,” I reply. “I mean, I don’t think.” 

“No. Nothing happened.” 

I don’t want things to be weird with Carlos. I need him on my side. Plus, he didn’t admit he was in love with me. All he _really_ did was admit he’s attracted to me. Right? I’ve got enough on my plate, so I’m more than happy to shove this one away. 

“I think we were both just stoned off our asses,” I finally say. 

“I agree.” 

We hear a knock on the door, and both sort of jump a bit. 

“Are you expecting anyone?” I whisper. 

“No. Were you?” 

“No.”

He stands. “Well. It’s got to be for you. I don’t know anyone in Chicago.”

“You have a dealer but you don’t know anyone?” 

There’s another knock on the door. 

I sigh. “Fine, asshole. I’ll go answer it.” 

I swing the door open. To my surprise, Leon is standing on the other side of it. 

“Leon!” I shriek. 

“Hey, Bill-” He catches himself. “Um, Jill. Can I come in?” He says it sort of like a demand rather than a question. 

“Yeah, uh, sure.” I open the door just a little further and he steps inside. I notice I’m still wearing sweatpants and an old, oversized t-shirt that says _Florida Forever_ on it. 

Leon wrinkles his face, looking toward the kitchen. “Do you, um, do you have company over right now?” he asks in an accusatory tone. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Carlos making another sandwich in the kitchen. Didn’t he just eat?

“Oh! God! No, that’s my new roommate. Um, you know, work, they moved me in with one of my team members, for missions and, uh, stuff.” 

“So you’re not-”

“Nah, dude, seriously. It’s not like that,” Carlos interjects as he paces by. “Two separate bedrooms and everything. Pure business. This is a strict pants-on household.” 

If I weren’t so freaked out from Leon making a surprise visit, I would’ve laughed. 

Carlos extends his hand. “I’m Carlos.”

Leon hesitates before returning the gesture. “Leon.” 

Carlos makes a point to dramatically glance him up and down. “Shit. Not bad, supercop. You’ve got some good taste.” And with that, he retreats to his room. 

I rub my eyes. “Seriously. I promise. He’s just my roommate.” 

Leon waves it off. “I believe you.” 

I instinctively grab his wrist and lead him to the couch. We both take a seat, our legs pressed against each other. I’m not sure whether it’s comforting or unnerving. 

“It’s, uh, good to see you,” I awkwardly mutter. “Why, um, you know, why did you stop by?” 

Leon half-smiles. “Well, I know the three of us had plans for this evening, but I thought I’d stop by a little early. Claire had a late lunch with some of her friends so…I was bored, I guess? Plus, you know.” He sighs. “This whole Jill Valentine thing is kind of weird, but, you know, I’m keeping an open mind.” 

I don’t remember making plans. Then again, the whole conversation with Claire in the car went by in a blur. It’s totally believable that I agreed to do something and completely forgot. So I nod along. 

Then, something crosses my mind. “Oh. I mean, cool, I guess. Um, how did you find my new apartment, though?” 

He chuckles. “It’s the same complex. It wasn’t that hard. You mentioned the apartment number last time we were together, I think.” 

Did I?

“Okay,” I murmur. “Well, uh, here I am. This is me.” 

He nods. “Yeah, there you are.” 

I don’t know if it’s a newfound surge of hormones or what, but I instinctively pull him into a kiss. He eagerly returns the gesture, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me down onto my back, aggressively grinding into me. 

I like it. 

He goes to take my top off, when we hear Carlos clearing his throat. “Careful, don’t push her down too hard. She hides Dmitri in the couch cushions.” 

Leon immediately hops off, crossing his legs together. Carlos bites his lip. I want to punch the smirk off his face. 

“Dmitri?” Leon asks. 

Carlos sticks his tongue out. “Her vibrator.” 

Leon bites his lip, I guess trying to stifle laughter. I cover my face. Goddamn it, Carlos. 

Carlos taps the back of the couch. “You’ve got some serious competition, dude. If you can’t get her screaming, you’re not doing a good enough job.” 

I’m _not_ a screamer. I don’t think. Carlos just loves being an asshole. 

Leon shrugs. “Well, I’m sure we’ll find out sooner or later.” Then, he winks. Oh god, he _winks._

Carlos burns his eyes into me. “Just keep your eye on the _prize_ , Jill.” He throws his trash away and retreats back to his room. 

I’m not really sure what to say. Apparently neither does Leon, because we both just sort of stare at each other. 

Finally, Leon clears his throat. “So, we have a reservation to go back to Palomino tonight.” 

I nod. “Oh, awesome. The food there was pretty good.” 

“Yeah.” He taps his fingers against my ankle. “It’s a nice restaurant, so, you know.” 

My cheeks turn red. “I know, I know. I’m not exactly hot shit right now.” 

Leon’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit, no, I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant, um, you know, we could go, uh, get cleaned up together.”

I wrinkle my eyebrow. 

“In the shower.” 

Oh. 

_Oh._


	10. Come Clean, With a Swimsuit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, you're not hallucinating. This is real. I'm FINALLY updating!
> 
> I'm so, so sorry for the delay y'all. I'm going through quite the quarter-life crisis right now, and subsequent writer's block to go with it. I really appreciate all of the love and support you've shown this piece, and I'm happy to be back. 
> 
> Is this the longest chapter I've written? No. The best? Also no. But I needed to get the ball rolling as best as I could so I can actually start updating regularly again. I'm ready to close this piece soon and start on the sequel, because I already know what I'm going to do with it. Hint: it involves Claire's perspective and a tiny town in Texas. 
> 
> As always, leave feedback. Let me know what you want to see. Sex scene? No sex scene? Do we care about Chris at all? 
> 
> Enjoy!

I blink, and suddenly we’re in my room. He shoves me onto the bed, his eyes dripping with that sort of hungry lust that you tend to only see in porno flicks. Or maybe not porn, but, like, steamy movies that barely kept it censored enough to keep the R rating. I don’t know. How do people describe these moments? How are you supposed to feel? I’m nervous. I’m very nervous. You can’t get all poetic and dreamy when you’re nervous. 

“This is one way to get to know you,” he whispers in my ear as he lowers his body onto mine, running his hands through my hair. 

I decide to ignore how cheesy that was and pull him into a kiss. He pushes himself closer onto me, tracing circles down my neck with his hot tongue. His hands wander inside my shirt and he teases me, running his hands over my bra ever so lightly. I find myself grinding against him; he gladly returns the gesture. 

Just as I let out an involuntary moan, an all-too-familiar gruff voice cuts me off. 

“Valentine!” Jarod shrieks from my computer speaker. 

_Fuck_. 

I shove Leon off of me at the speed of light, loudly clearing my throat in an effort to mask the moaning. As if he were going to fall for it. 

“Valentine! What the hell are you doing?” 

I close my eyes and exhale. “Give me a second, Jarod.”

“I need you, now!” 

Leon shoots me a confused look. Well, technically, he shoots the computer a confused look. 

“I’m so sorry,” I mouth. 

“Val-en- _tine_!” Jarod screams. 

Leon taps his hands on his thighs. “Um, I’ll meet you in the shower,” he whispers, dashing off at the speed of light. 

I smooth my hair down and adjust my clothes, taking a couple of deep breaths before turning my monitor on and peeling the sticker off my webcam. 

Jarod’s face is red. Is he embarrassed? No, the man doesn’t get embarrassed. Angry? I’m tired of him being so damn angry all the time. 

Whatever it is, I have to get him off this call as fast as possible. Obviously.

“Hi, Jarod,” I mutter meekly. 

“Sorry, was I interrupting something?” he seethes sarcastically.

I fold my arms. “No. What’s the matter?” 

“Was that Carlos?” 

“No, it wasn’t Carlos, for the last time!” 

Finally (?), Jarod’s face softens into this perverted grin. “I gotta be honest, I was kind of tempted to wait and see how long it would go on for.” 

I really don’t feel like putting up with it today. “Jarod, at some point you’re gonna cross a line and I’m going to report you for sexual harassment.” 

He holds his hands up, as if to say _I’m innocent._ “Who said anything about sex?” 

“What do you need, Jarod?!” I shout. 

He doesn’t hesitate. “I’ve got some serious intel on Chris. One of our other operatives managed to get some information on him. Someone else is doing your job, since you apparently don’t want to.” 

I lower my voice. “I told you, I’m on to something with his sister. I guarantee you, whatever intel you have, mine will be better.” 

He rolls his eyes. “You keep saying that. You’ve been leaving me hanging for, what, nine months now? Ten, maybe? This was supposed to be easy. We should be done with this.” 

“You gave me an impossible job and almost no resources to do it! In what world is that ‘easy’?” 

He opens his mouth for a second, like he wants to argue back, but he closes it. He clicks his tongue a few times, then continues on. “Someone on our team found an alter ego he’s been using. He’s attempting to flee the country. We’re thinking it might be tied to the London break-ins.” 

“So now we think for sure that he’s working for the enemy?” I ask. 

He scoots closer. “These break-ins were discreet. They would’ve needed insider knowledge to figure it out.”

“Or maybe they were just pre-meditated. Maybe they just put a lot of thought into them?”

“Okay. Well then why would Chris want to flee the country just as we’re on to him?” 

I hug my knees to my chest, then instantly regret it, because, uh, there’s still a mess going on _down there_. “Can you show me the falsified documents he’s using? Who’s the alter ego?” 

“I don’t have access to them at the moment, but I can show you later. What’s with all the backtalk, Valentine? You don’t believe me?” 

I hear the _guurp_ sound of the shower turning on, a brutal reminder that the answer to the Chris question could, perhaps, be two-hundred feet away from me. 

Then, the panic attack kicks in. Of course. My heart speeds up, my vision goes blurry. It’s too much information for me to process at once. 

I’m tired of thinking about Chris. 

“I’m going to go now,” I whisper, turning off my speakers and throwing the sticker back over my webcam. 

The shower’s running full force. Leon’s in there. Naked. And he wants me to be in there. Naked. When’s the last time anyone saw me naked? Does the doctor count? No, even that was only my bottom half. My heart’s still racing. My fingers are trembling. It’s too much. I can’t handle the pressure of having Leon see me naked for the first time on top of everything Jarod just dropped on me. 

I can’t just leave Leon in the shower, either, though.

I stand in the middle of my room for a solid minute or two, trying to decide what to do, wishing I could somehow fast-forward to our dinner tonight. But I can’t. I finally decide, however stupidly, that I _will_ get in the shower, but I’m not quite ready for him to see me naked. 

I pull out an old one-piece swimsuit that I got in the clearance section of Target a couple of years ago. My apartment complex has a pool, and I stupidly thought I might actually go swimming. Never did. 

Thankfully, it covers most of my, ahem, lady bits, though not completely. What is it with women’s bathing suits being out to expose you? Isn’t the whole point to cover you up so you’re not swimming naked?

I swing the bathroom door open. Thankfully, Carlos hasn’t changed the dead lightbulbs yet, so the lighting in there is pretty dim. 

“What took you so long?” Leon shouts over the water. 

“My boss was being a dick.” It’s the truth. “Um, please don’t laugh at me, but I’m really stressed right now, and, uh…”

He pushes the curtain aside, exposing his whole body. 

And _oh my god._

I don’t have the guts to look _down there_ yet. I take in his chiseled frame and the little pieces of chest hair sticking to him. My knees get a little weak. Is it nerves or hormones? Both? 

Then, I sneak a peek. It’s been so long since I’ve seen a naked man. It feels like prom night all over again, seeing _one of those_ for the first time. I have absolutely nothing to compare it to, so I’m not even sure if it’s supposed to be a nice one or not. It definitely looks normal, I guess. 

I think my heart’s gonna rip out of my chest. 

“Are you wearing a bathing suit? Or is that some sort of weird dominatrix lingerie?” His voice, and subsequent laughter, cut my thoughts short. 

“I, uh…” In my panicked state, I guess it didn’t occur to me just how stupid getting in the shower with a bathing suit is. I sigh. “Look, I need to slow down just a little bit. My boss sent me into a panic attack, and I’m just not ready to, um, you know. But I also didn’t want to abandon you in the shower. So here I am.” 

He reaches forward, grabbing my wrist. “You know, I thought at first that you were a pathological liar, but now I’m starting to see how awkward and weird you actually are.” 

I shrug. “I’ll take it.” 

He pulls me in the shower, and the warm water hits my back and my hair. I forgot how weird it feels to be in the shower with a swimsuit on; the suit sort of sticks to my skin uncomfortably. 

His voice lowers. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” 

I do. I do so badly. I almost spit it all out. 

But I can’t. Not yet. I know, deep down, that I need to find out more about Leon’s involvement with Chris. Except I don’t know if I want to know. Do I even care anymore? 

“I’m thinking of asking my boss to move me to a different project,” I blurt without thinking. The words surprise me coming out of my mouth. I almost wonder if I’m bullshitting. 

I’m not, am I?

“Why’s that?” Leon asks, stepping into the water so that we’re mere inches from each other. 

Lord, he’s attractive. I’m starting to feel a little tongue-tied. 

I take a deep breath. “My boss, um, the project he put me on, it’s, um, way too difficult, and it’s causing me a lot of stress. It’s getting me into some sticky situations, basically.” 

He nods. “I can relate to that.” 

I practically pounce on him. “How so?” 

He opens his mouth, but words don’t come out at first. He sort of twists his face. “Um, it’s really complicated. I don’t want to think about it.” 

“Who’s keeping secrets now?” 

He slides his hand across my lower back. “Let’s stop talking for a few minutes.” 

He pulls me into a kiss. It feels nice, especially after everything that’s been happening. But before it can go any further, a blast of cold water hits us. 

We both jump back. Cold water continues to aggressively slap my thighs. How many more distractions are we going to have to deal with here?

I shut the water off and groan. “The hot water here always runs out super fast.” 

He bites his lip, then bursts into laughter. 

“Are you laughing because my apartment sucks, or because I’m in a bathing suit? Because I know you’re still judging me for it,” I jab. 

He opens the shower curtain. “I’m laughing because neither of us got towels.” 

Of course we forgot towels. 

I rub my face. “Shit. I’m sorry. Let me go grab some out of our linen closet.” 

“Aren’t you worried about dripping all over the floors?” 

I shrug. “These cheap laminate floors have probably endured worse.” 

I step out, watching my bathing suit and my hair drip all over the floor. I’ve got to be quick. I throw open the door and quickly shut it, tip-toeing across the living room, as if it’s going to somehow keep water from dripping off of my body. 

“Um, why the fuck are you in a bathing suit?” 

Just as I open the linen closet and grab towels, Carlos sneaks up from behind me. It startles me. 

I shut the door, not wanting to look him in the eye. “Please don’t ask me that.” 

“Does the dude have some sort of granny one-piece fetish or something?” Carlos asks. “I didn’t think this could get weirder, but wonders never cease.” 

“No,” I insist. “Um, well, I don’t think.” 

Carlos sticks his index finger in my left strap, snapping it, then giggling like a middle school boy. I slap his hand away. It actually kind of hurts. Damn, I’m getting soft.

“Did he finally pop your reconstructed cherry? You guys were awful quiet.” 

“You were listening?!”

He shrugs. “Not in a perverted way. I was genuinely curious.” 

I roll my eyes. We both know he’s lying. “No. Jarod started stressing me out and I chickened out. I wasn’t even brave enough to get naked in front of him.” I point to my bathing suit. “As you can tell.” 

“How did Jarod stress you out? What’s the dude doing bothering you on a Friday night anyways?”

As badly as I want to vent to Carlos, I can’t leave Leon waiting forever. “I’ll have to tell you more tonight. Basically, he thinks Chris is behind the break-ins and that he’s trying to flee the country.”

“What break-ins?” 

I start to walk away. “I told you, I’ll tell you later!”

I step back into the bathroom. Leon’s examining himself in the mirror, for whatever reason. I almost open my mouth to ask why, but he quickly snatches the towel from my hand and rubs his body down. “Finally. Thank you. My skin starts to get rashes if water sits on it for too long.” He wraps the towel around his body. “Do you want to go back into your room and start getting dressed?” 

My swimsuit starts to itch even worse. I manage to wrap the towel around me and then peel the swimsuit off my body. I’m pretty sure I accidentally expose myself a couple of times, but at least the damn thing is off of me. I fling it carelessly into the bathtub, and the two of us dash back into my room. 

We sit in silence for a minute or two. He shamelessly scrubs himself dry, exposing himself in full glory in the process. I’m not brave enough. I keep the towel wrapped around me and pray I’ll air dry. Or something. 

He slips his clothes back on, running the towel through his hair. “Listen, Jill.” That’s never a good way to start a sentence. “I didn’t just stop by to try and jump in your pants…you know, unsuccessfully. I’m actually kind of glad to see you’re uncomfortable.” 

Never thought I’d hear a sentence like that before. Or, at least, from him. It’s like he took a verbal cue from Carlos. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” My hair’s dripping water all down my back, and I’d give anything to just rub my towel all over my body. But apparently it’s a good thing I’m uncomfortable, so I guess now I really have to keep myself covered up. 

He chuckles, then sits on my bed. “What I mean is, I think I was wrong in telling you to keep your secret from Claire.” 

I open my mouth to say _hell no it wasn’t,_ but he continues on. “This isn’t going to work if we’re all lying to each other. We have to get everything out in the open. At first I was worried about how Claire would take it, but honestly, she likes you as much as I do.” He sighs. “If we’re going to move forward and make this a serious thing, we have to be able to be one-hundred percent honest with each other.” 

I pause. I have no idea how to feel about it. How honest are we supposed to be here? Do I tell him that I know he’s hiding the fact that he’s working with Chris? Do _I_ tell _him_ that this whole thing started because I was trying to find Chris, and that now there’s a theory that Chris is part of some criminal organization? 

“Okay,” I finally mutter. “I’ll be honest. But you guys will be too, right? There’s nothing you’re trying to hide?” 

He makes a face. Duh. I know exactly what he’s trying to hide. “We’re all going to come clean as best as we can.” He half-smiles. “I’m not trying to make you feel anxious or anything. I think this is a good point to be at. We can finally form a healthy relationship.” 

I almost want to tell him that I don’t know _how_ to form a healthy relationship, and that I’m still overwhelmed, but I refrain. Instead, I silently wander over to my closet and pull out a dress I bought last weekend. From the clearance rack in Target, of course. I’m their best customer. 

“We need to go and pick up Claire at our place in about forty-five minutes. Let’s hurry and get ready,” he finally mutters, and we go silent after that. 

— —

We drive in relative silence. It would’ve been more uncomfortable if he hadn’t held my hand the entire time. I’m not necessarily nervous, but I wasn’t feeling great. I think I hit some weird point where I’m just past the point of being nervous and am just outright numb. Or terrified. Can you be both?

Claire’s excited as always to open the door. She looks gorgeous. Well, I mean, she always looks gorgeous, but of course she picks today to be absolutely stunning. It just makes things worse. 

“Are you guys ready to go? No need to stop in the house first,” she muses after hugging and kissing each of us. 

Claire goes to shut the door, but Leon stops her. “Is Sherry home?” 

“No, she’s at Corrine’s. Why?” 

“I thought she was grounded,” I blurt without meaning to. 

Claire and Leon both shoot me a look, and I wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing, but Leon eventually laughs. “You’re right, Claire, she _is_ grounded. Why’s she at Corrine’s?”

“Corrine’s mom told me she was going to be keeping a really close eye on the girls. And I’m tired of dealing with it.”

Leon rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Did you make reservations at the restaurant already?” 

Claire’s visibly confused. “No? What’s with the sudden Q-and-A session?” 

Leon steps inside, grabbing my hand and pulling me along. He gently shuts the front door behind us. “Claire. We need to talk. All three of us.” 

“About what?” 

He sighs. “It’s time that we come clean.” 

Her eyes widen for a second, and her knees buckle ever-so-slightly. “Um, about _what?_ ”

He bites his lip. “All of it.”


	11. The Beginning of The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again everyone!  
> I'm hoping to wrap this story up soon, mainly because I feel like this particular plot is kind of running in circles. However, if you guys want, I really want to write a sequel and a new storyline, this time taking place from Claire's perspective. What do you guys think?   
> As always, enjoy!

You know those moments in movies where the dam suddenly overflows and everything dissolves into chaos? 

Yeah, that's exactly what happened. 

Each of us took a seat in the living room, sitting a comfortable distance away from each other. The tension in the room was practically palpable. It took me a moment, but I realized that it wasn't just tension between me and them. 

The two of them were feeling tension, too. 

Leon balls his fists, then brings them to his lips, his eyes narrowing in concentration. "This whole thing is a mess. I kept trying to tell myself it wasn't, but it is. This entire thing is going to blow up in our faces." 

"Whose faces?" I ask. I'm genuinely confused. 

"All three of us!" He's sort of whisper-shouting. Claire shoots Leon one of those _not now_ looks, but he makes a point to ignore it. "None of us thought this little tryst was going to go this far, but it did, and now we have to deal with it." 

I'm speechless. So is Claire. 

Leon rubs his face. "You can stop pretending you don't know who Jill is, Claire. Come on. It made sense for you to buy the fake identity for the first one or two times, but now you're just playing dumb." 

My stomach drops. Like, literally. It's like I shit my pants with my own stomach. Is that a thing? I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. Instead, an awkward squeak-burp type noise. 

Claire starts rubbing her temples. "God fuck, Leon. This is the worst possible timing." 

"No it's not. She already knows that I know. Why bother pretending?" Leon replies. 

Claire sets her hands in her lap. "Fine. Yes. I know who you are. You're my brother's former work partner." 

"How long have you known?" I blurt. "Have you known this whole time, or is it because Leon started working for Chris?" 

Leon snaps his attention to me, then immediately back to Claire. "You told her about that?" 

She sighs. "It just kind of slipped." 

"What else did you tell her?" 

"That's it." She narrows her eyes. "How long have you been pretending to be the only one that knows? Have you guys been sneaking around behind my back?" 

"All of her STARS shit was laying out on her coffee table. If I hadn't said something, I would've looked incredibly fucking stupid." 

"But how long has it been?" 

The two of them argue as if I'm not even there. I ponder, between the screaming, if I'm about to be the reason their relationship falls apart.

Shit. 

"Why didn't you just come clean at that point? Or at least tell me?" Claire's full-on shouting. I didn't think she was capable. 

"I wanted to see if I could get more intel from her without having two of us cornering her and intimidating her!" Leon shouts back. 

"Bullshit!" Claire pauses, taking a breath. Her voice lowers. "You liked her, too." 

Huh? 

Leon opens his mouth, but then closes it again. It takes him a moment to formulate a response. 

“Yeah. I kind of did.” 

I'm fully aware that the rational thing to do would be to stay quiet and let them duke it out, but I can't stop myself at that point. 

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" I wanted it to sound sassy and defiant, but it came out as more of a stumbled squeak. 

The two of them freeze. They stare into each other's eyes, neither of them blinking. 

"Someone say something, or I'm going to walk out the door." It's a completely empty threat, but they don't need to know that. No way I'm leaving now. I need some goddamn answers. 

Claire closes her eyes and sighs. Leon sits next to her. 

"Um, well, we were never looking for a unicorn," Claire finally whispers. 

You'd think that would be glaringly obvious by now. Instead, I mutter an awkward "huh?". 

Then Claire starts crying. Not like a few drops falling from her eyes. Full on bawling, like a toddler with a scraped knee, or a soccer mom who just found out her kid smoked weed for the first time. 

_Now's not the time for jokes, Jill._

Leon rubs his face for the bajillionth time. "Jesus, Claire, calm down." 

"Stupid fucking Chris put us up to this. We shouldn't have. It was such a bad idea," Claire says through tears. 

Holy shit. 

Chris?

Finally, Leon starts talking. "Chris works for an operative group. They've been trying to track your whereabouts, and somebody got a tip that you've been working with a rival organization and are out to assassinate him. They had some rudimentary data on your recent whereabouts, so they enlisted the local police department, AKA me, to help him. They figured you'd be looking for some sort of an in. They usually look for family members or close friends, wedge their way in, and then make a premeditated attack. So we decided to be one step ahead, put out the bait, confirm it was you, and then...well, get things taken care of."

If I weren't sitting in a chair, I would've stumbled backward. "You were trying to kill me?" 

"No!" Claire shouts through her tears. Why is she crying so hard? "We just wanted to...well, you know, corner you, figure out who you work for, throw you in jail if we had to." 

I try to make eye contact with her, but she's covering her face. I look to Leon; he immediately looks away. 

"So, um, why didn't you?" I ask. 

"We weren't a hundred percent sure it was you until...well, um, until it was too late." 

A jolt of electricity hits me. Words practically spill from my mouth. 

"Well, yeah. Congratulations, you found me. And for your information, yes, I was looking for Chris, but I wasn't trying to kill him. You're on the wrong side here. I work for a UN-sanctioned anti-bioterrorism unit. They told me he may be potentially working for a rival. And they've got bad things up their sleeves." 

Leon exhales. "Well, you might be working for an imposter, then. Chris is employed by an organization named BSAA. They're the UN anti-bioterrorism unit. It's in all of their documents and everything." 

Now I'm really confused. 

"But _I_ work for BSAA! Maybe he's being fooled by some imposter." 

"The UN sent us his documents." 

"Well I can show you mine if you want. This doesn't make any sense!" I pause for a moment. "Is this some sort of prank?" 

I notice Claire's stopped crying. Leon freezes. 

"Why exactly did they send you looking for Chris?"

"They're worried he's working for some sort of fugitive group to recreate, um, well...this awful virus they had, back in Raccoon City." 

We sit in silence. I'm trying to wrap my head around everything that's managed to come spilling out of our mouths over the last five minutes. 

Chris is not only alive and well, he's claiming to be a part of the BSAA and hunting me down. 

And they weren't looking for a unicorn. They were looking to trap me, and it worked. 

Except they failed, because we all fell for each other. 

From the looks of Claire's and Leon's faces, they're having just as much trouble wrapping their heads around the madness. They aren't making eye contact with each other, or with me. Claire's still crying, though it's calmed down a little bit. 

"What the actual fuck?" I finally blurt. 

Believe it or not, it actually makes Claire and Leon laugh. Or maybe they're laughing because the tension in the room is almost unbearable. 

After a good thirty seconds or so, Leon sighs. "So, let me get this straight: you also work for BSAA." 

I nod.

"And you're absolutely sure it's them? And not an imposter organization?" 

Now I'm the one rubbing my face. "I was there when the UN sanctioned its founding. Chris was MIA. If anything, he's the one working for an imposter organization." 

"We ran his records directly with the UN. He's legit." 

"But I don't get it!" I screech. "If we're both supposedly working for BSAA, why would we have been tasked to find each other? What in the hell is that accomplishing?" 

Claire half-shrugs. "Um, I mean, who are you reporting to exactly? Who sent you on this mission? Did it come directly from the director of the BSAA himself?" 

I shake my head. "No. BSAA is a relatively large organization, so none of us report directly to the main director. We have overheard project supervisors we're assigned to that give us our assignments." 

Then, the lightbulb goes off.

"Jarod!" I shout. 

"Jarod Norman?" Leon replies. 

"Yes!" My voice remains elevated. "Wait, you know him?" 

Leon's jaw practically drops to the floor. "Chris is assigned to work under Jarod Norman." 

And then, the story finally comes together. 

"It makes sense," I gasp. 

"It does?" Claire gawks.

"Jarod hates both Chris and I. He's always complaining about how the organization pays too much attention to our 'heroics' in Raccoon City or whatever. Oh my god. I bet he set us up. He sent us on a goose chase leading nowhere. Probably to get us fired, or at least to humiliate us." 

The topic of my relationship with Claire and Leon quickly escapes my brain. I'm really, really angry. For the past eight months, Jarod's been taunting me, putting me on a fruitless manhunt, all probably because he's jealous of our work in Raccoon City. 

Who else knew? Did other operatives in BSAA know, or did they assume that I (and I guess Chris) were slacking off? How many people are laughing at my expense?

Does Carlos know? 

"I need to go home. Now," I whisper. 

"Don't you think we should talk this stuff out?" Claire asks. 

"Take me home!" I scream. 

Claire looks to Leon, and Leon nods. He motions me to the front door, grabbing his keys. 

We drive in silence. Not that I notice. I'm fuming. Absolutely fuming. I close my eyes, willing back angry tears, hoping I don't humiliate myself further. 

He pulls into a parking space. Before I have a chance to get out, he puts his hand on my thigh. 

"Jill," he whispers. "When this gets sorted out, please call us. I don't want it to end this way." 

With that, I hop out of the car, and he speeds away. I shove his words to the back of my mind. I have more important things to take care of. 

I practically break the door down. Carlos sits on the couch, scarfing a bag of potato chips. 

"Did you know?!" I scream. 

"Hello to you too," Carlos replies sarcastically. 

Now the tears start flowing full force. "Did you know that Chris also works for BSAA? And that I've been set up?" 

Carlos throws his hands up, dropping his bag of potato chips along the way. "Whoa. What the hell are you talking about?" 

"I was being set up! This entire mission where I was looking for Chris? Yeah, it was complete and utter bullshit! Chris works for BSAA, and they have him looking for me! We're being played, forced on this stupid goose chase!" 

Carlos's eyes widen. "Holy shit, Jill, I swear to god I had absolutely no idea." 

I have no time to deal with him. I march straight to my room, taking the sticker off my webcam and turning on the speakers. 

"Jarod!" I scream, much like how he's always screaming "Valentine!" into my speakers. 

No answer. 

I lean closer to my computer. "Jarod! I know you can hear me! Either come to the computer or I'm getting in my car and driving to the headquarters in person!"

Jarod approaches, casually taking a seat in front of the webcam. "What's up, Valentine? Any leads on Chris? I assume you have something important to report back to me." 

"Cut the bullshit!" I scream. "I know exactly what you're doing. Chris isn't lost. You have him looking for me. You're wasting our time. What the fuck is this game you're trying to play here?" 

His face freezes. I fully expect him to go deer-in-the-headlights, or start denying things, or plead for me not to tell the director what's been happening. 

Instead, he just starts laughing. 


End file.
